


The Long Way Around

by Jolli_Bean



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Connor (Detroit: Become Human), But still pretty canon-compliant, Camboy Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Has a Penis, Dirty Talk, Falling In Love, He doesn't start with one but boy does he get one, Light Angst, M/M, Masturbation, Porn With Plot, Top Hank Anderson, Webcam/Video Chat Sex, Wire Play
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:22:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 64,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22870060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jolli_Bean/pseuds/Jolli_Bean
Summary: After Cole's death, after the android surgeon who couldn't save him is decommissioned just because she came to tell Hank she was sorry, Hank sees how dangerous CyberLife is, and he sets out to make them pay. It leads him to Jericho, where he helps the deviants in whatever way he can for years.In 2038, the deviancy crisis is coming to a head. CyberLife has developed a new investigative prototype to find Jericho. Connor suspects Hank is involved, that Hank might be the path he needs to the deviants, and when he finds a number of adult streams in Hank's home browsing history, he knows exactly how he might get close enough to him that Hank will lead him to Jericho.He’s not prepared for how he starts to feel about Hank, especially when he isn’t meant to feel anything at all.[It's a camboy AU.]
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 47
Kudos: 245





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This started out with a premise I was considering for a while, in which I thought it would be interesting to explore a version of canon where, instead of directing his anger over the accident at androids and inward at himself, Hank instead directs it towards CyberLife for the effect they’ve had on unemployment and red ice consumption, and where he helps Jericho through the revolution.
> 
> ...and then I added some Camboy!Connor shit in, because I guess I felt like it just needed that little something extra. Yolo, or whatever.
> 
> So anyway - yes, this is self-indulgent! Don’t @ me! Tags will be updated as I go.

Hank thinks about the android who couldn’t save Cole every day.

Her name was Marie, and she wasn’t supposed to be operating alone. The surgeon who was high on red ice that night let her down just the same as he did Cole.

Marie, a wisp of a thing with hands designed small for precision in surgery, had a plain face, and blue eyes that were no less searching for it. She was still wearing her bloody scrubs when she came up to see Hank.

Hank thinks about her crying when she said, “I’m so sorry,” and how he didn’t tell her it wasn’t her fault because he was grieving too much, too lost in his own shit, and how he wishes he had. He wishes _someone_ had told her that.

When Hank asked his nurse about her later, towards the end of his hospital stay, he was told Marie was decommissioned. CyberLife’s recycling service came to pick her up the morning after Cole’s surgery.

“You really decommission them every time they lose a patient?” Hank had asked, because that’s what he thought she meant at first, and it didn’t make sense to him. Androids are expensive to manufacture, and of course a surgeon model can’t be expected to save everyone.

“It wasn’t that. Her software was so buggy after the surgery...just really unstable. She was malfunctioning.” 

It took Hank a few days after that to understand it completely, because deviancy was new, and they didn’t have all the words for it yet, or the experience to recognize it. But he did understand, eventually, that Marie was never supposed to come talk to him at all, that she only did because she felt so guilty for losing Cole, that it was coming up to his room to apologize to him that really got her killed.

The surgeon who was high that night let her down, but Hank thinks maybe he did, too.

So that’s why Hank helps Jericho these days, mostly. Because he’s doing it for Marie. Because he’s pissed at CyberLife. Because he sees it so fucking clearly after years on the red ice task force, how the production of androids and the unstable economy drove red ice usage up, how humans and androids are all just tokens to line the pockets of CyberLife executives and politicians and no one else. Maybe it isn’t fair to say Cole is dead because of them, but they sure as hell didn’t help, either.

And Hank wants to make them pay for it. 

It took Hank a while to find them. Months of asking the androids they had in for questioning when the deviancy crisis started rising, of following the clues they left for each other to find Jericho himself to one dead end after another.

In the end, Hank only found them because Amanda Stern decided to trust him. 

He had been interviewing her for months as part of the case, seeking her insight as a former CyberLife employee, getting comfortable enough with her to speak frankly about his own perceptions of things.

It was a risk, speaking plainly, but it was also easy to be honest when Amanda was so clearly sympathetic to the androids, too. 

Hank never suspected she was helping them, not until she told him, even if he did know she was sympathetic, but looking back on it now, maybe he should have. That’s the way all cases are, though - always clearer in hindsight.

Since his involvement with them, Hank does for Jericho what he can. He intentionally misses things at crime scenes, lets deviants go when he’s able, feeds Markus and North and the others what information he can. Chris Miller helps when he can, too, and has for months now.

They’re both there when they tell Jericho the FBI is being called in. 

Hank sits with North watching the news on the new android CyberLife has developed - an investigative prototype, with the sole purpose of hunting deviants. It took Hank a while to win North over - she doesn’t care for cops, and Hank has never blamed her for that - but the good thing about her is that she’s always willing to let her mind be changed, to come around to people when they prove themselves to her. She’s one of Hank’s closest friends here now.

“They built themselves a bloodhound,” North says quietly as they watch the broadcast.

Based on the RK800 model’s specs - Connor, CyberLife calls him - ‘bloodhound’ is an astute enough description. He’s designed to track them down. 

He also has one of the sweetest faces Hank has ever seen on an android, gentle despite the rundown of his functionality, which is...an interesting design choice, to say the least.

“Right down to the puppy dog eyes,” he says to North, who gives a derisive snort. 

“People are scared, and CyberLife knows it. Makes sense they’d try to tone their terminator model down.” She nudges Hank’s shoe with the toe of her boot. “Are you worried?”

“About the FBI going through the DPD’s shit?” he asks, and she nods. “No. Chris and I are careful.” 

North nods, looking back at the RK800 on the screen. “I feel bad for him,” she says, voice soft.

“How come?”

She’s quiet for a moment, and then she says, “He’s going to be so alone.”

Hank wouldn’t have thought of it, but yeah, he supposes that’s right. 

He looks back at Connor’s face, at that inquisitive look built into his eyes, and he thinks about how usually androids at least have each other. So many of Jericho’s androids have been through so much, but the moment they deviated, they at least had a place to belong. 

But androids are going to be so afraid of Connor, because CyberLife built him that way, and suddenly Hank feels bad for him, too.

“How many firewalls against deviancy do you think they have built into him?” he asks North, and she shrugs.

“I don’t know. A few, I imagine. One more reason to feel sorry for him.”

“Yeah,” Hank says softly. He pushes himself to his feet, feeling tired.

(He’s always tired.) 

“Chris and I should get out of here,” he says when North stands beside him. “We have to play welcoming committee to the feds first thing tomorrow. Tell the others I said goodbye?”

“Yeah,” North says. “Watch your back, Hank.” 

“You too, kid,” Hank replies, starting down the stairs to the lower deck. Chris is sitting with Simon and Josh watching the same broadcast, and Hank grabs him on his way out.

“They’re scared shitless,” Chris says under his breath as they walk out to the lot across the street from the freighter where they usually park.

“Yeah,” Hank replies. “I guess that tracks.”

“Is North?” Chris asks. “I mean, fuck, I’m scared.”

“I don’t think so. I think she’s just angry.”

He knows because he and North are cut from the same cloth, and because he’s angry, too. 

That’s just something he lives with these days, though. He’s always angry. Always tired, but never afraid, because the thing of it is, he doesn’t exactly care if he dies or goes to prison for helping Jericho. It’s not that he wants to, but he’s felt so ambivalent about his own life since Cole. 

Maybe Chris knows that, because they’ve known since yesterday about the FBI’s deployment to Detroit and their shiny new android toy, and he has yet to ask Hank outright if he’s afraid. Maybe he already knows the answer.

Hank treats that night like any other. He goes home, eats some cheap microwave dinner that he doesn’t enjoy, drinks a beer, watches TV he can hardly hear over Sumo’s snoring across the room.

He’s in bed by nine pm, and he doesn’t think about the FBI descending on them tomorrow morning.

He does think about Connor, though. 

He thinks about the inherent cruelty of it, to make an android who by his very nature is designed to be alone, almost in the same way Hank is, the way he’s been for years. 

All this loneliness is shit Hank wouldn’t force on his worst enemy. 

And Connor is far from his worst enemy. Connor with the pretty face and the puppy dog eyes is just another android who can’t see what he is past all the red lines in his code. He’s not any different, and that makes this difficult, because Hank doesn’t know him and yet he’d still like to help him.

He has to put Jericho first, though. He has to. It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve had to leave someone behind to keep all the rest of them safe, either.

So Hank tries to think of Connor less. 

He tries not to think of him, tries to go to sleep.

It doesn’t work at all, and it’s only the black coffee keeping Hank standing the next morning while the DPD waits for the FBI’s arrival, but that’s okay.

He’s used to shit not going his way.

Hank has dealt with the feds getting called in on his case once before, during the red ice ring investigation. It isn’t always bad having them there - the partnership was what put the red ice ring away in the end...although of course that didn’t stop that surgeon from being too high on it to operate on Cole.

This is different, though. It doesn’t take someone clued in to the deviancy cases to realize they’re on the brink of something big here, that times are changing at a pace none of them can control - although some of them will sure as fuck try.

And when tensions are that high, there’s much more room to point fingers and pass blame. The FBI has already made it clear in all their correspondence that this isn’t meant to be a cooperative partnership, that they don’t think the DPD has done enough in the wake of the deviancy crisis to control it and they’re here to correct that.

(They haven’t, of course. Or, at least, Chris and Hank haven’t. But they’ve been careful enough that no one ever needs to know that.)

It’s half past nine in the morning when Agent Richard Perkins arrives with a small entourage of agents and one android in tow. 

Perkins goes right to Jeff and ignores all the rest of them, because of course he would. Chris watches them as they retreat into Jeff’s office - and Hank should too, honestly, try to read the conversation through the glass - but instead he’s looking over his terminal monitor at Connor across the room. 

The first thing Hank notices is that he’s taller than Hank thought he would be. It’s the face, or maybe it’s just the big brown eyes, that made Hank think he would be smaller. Connor is fiddling with a coin, passing it between his fingers in an impressive trick. It’s an idle subroutine - most androids have one. They don’t tend to like being still, and they aren’t made that way by design.

Connor is watching the room, though. He doesn’t look like he is...but he is. The only show of it is the minute pinch in his brow, but Hank can see him thinking. He’s unassuming, the way CyberLife built him to be, but Hank watches as Connor looks from Tina to Chris to Gavin - the brow pinch is more obvious when he looks at Gavin, but of course Gavin is loud.

Hank doesn’t quite avert his gaze before Connor gets to him, but maybe it’s better that way. Connor would know what he was doing, certainly, and trying to hide it would just make it clear he thinks there’s something he should be hiding in the first place.

Connor tilts his head when he finds Hank looking at him, a little smile lifting the corner of his mouth.

All deviant androids are this lifelike, with all the minute facial expressions and gestures that humans have. Most androids compliant with their programming aren’t. CyberLife didn’t cut corners with this one’s social protocols. 

Hank doesn’t expect Connor to move, not when he’s clearly given himself the directive to stand there and quietly observe the DPD’s officers, but he does cross the room to Hank.

“Hello, Lieutenant,” he says, extending a hand when he reaches him. “How are you?” 

He has what almost sounds like the manufactured rasp of someone who used to smoke in his voice, and it’s nicer than it should be. 

Hank shakes his hand. “Connor, I assume?”

Connor looks pleased to be recognized. CyberLife programs androids with egos when it suits their work, and sometimes they last into deviancy, sometimes they don’t.

Hank wonders, for some fucking reason, if that little hint of vanity in Connor would, if only because he finds it a bit endearing.

“I’m supposed to speak with you about the deviancy cases later,” Connor says. 

“You’re supposed to grill me for mistakes, you mean.”

Connor tilts his head. “Your impressive disciplinary record did indicate you have a problem with cynicism.”

“Hm.” 

Of course Connor has done all his homework - he probably scanned all of them just now, learned everything he could about each of them. He probably already knows about the accident, and the divorce, and Cole...

“I’ll let you get back to work,” Connor says. “I just wanted to introduce myself.”

He doesn’t introduce himself to anyone else, Hank notices. He just goes back to standing against the wall, fishing his coin from his pocket and resuming his little coin tricks.

But then, no one else was looking at Connor. No one else was paying him any attention at all.

The first half of Hank’s day passes like any would, excluding Connor’s consistent presence and the way he keeps an eye on everything. The FBI agents are mostly preoccupied with Jeff’s briefing, and that keeps them out of Hank’s way for a while. 

For how quiet and unassuming he makes himself, though, Connor looms large in the bullpen. He doesn’t come over to Hank again, nor does he approach anyone else, but Hank can hardly focus on anything else anyway.

He forces himself not to look up at Connor the rest of the morning. He fails four times.

And twice, he finds Connor looking back at him, considering...something. He’s considering something. Hank just doesn’t know what it is.

Perkins comes out of Jeff’s office at 12:35 in the afternoon.

At 12:40, Connor approaches Hank’s desk again. “Lieutenant,” he says pleasantly, “can I start with you?”

“For your little interrogation?” Hank asks. It comes out a bit sarcastic, and he feels bad for it - Connor can’t help his role in this, even if Hank doesn’t care for this shitshow at all. 

Connor shrugs. “I don’t know if it’s little. I suspect the length of time we talk depends on you.”

“It’s an expression,” Hank says as he gets up and follows Connor down the hall to the interrogation rooms. “Not literal.”

He doesn’t know why he’s pointing that out at all. He suspects Connor knows that, that the “android unaware of idioms and turns of phrase” bit is entirely a ploy.

“I see,” Connor says anyway. “Thank you, Lieutenant. I’m still learning.”

 _You clever little robot_ , Hank thinks and doesn’t say. This is all tactical, an attempt to be underestimated, to put Hank at ease...

CyberLife didn’t pull their punches with this one. He’s impressive. And Hank, for the first time, feels a twinge of nervousness creep down his spine, despite all the times he said he wasn’t worried about the FBI looking into their work.

Connor holds the door to the interrogation room open for Hank. Hank is almost entirely sure there are feds on the other side of the glass, but maybe Connor will just record the interview and share it with them later.

Hank seats himself at the table, leaning back like he’s at ease, watching Connor’s LED spinning yellow as he closes the door.

“You alright there?” Hank asks, tapping his own temple when Connor looks at him. 

“Just accessing your case records,” Connor says, sitting across from him. “I’ve already taken the time to review them, but there are a few I’d like some clarification on.” He pulls up a file on his palm display and holds it out for Hank to see. “Can you tell me about this case?” 

Yeah. Hank can. He found the deviant android in the attic after he stabbed his owner, realized he had been hiding there for weeks after the murder. He told him to keep quiet, told the other officers at the scene that the attic was clear. He came back for the android later and drove him across the city to Jericho. 

Hank raises an eyebrow. “Deviant housekeeper model stabbed his owner - seemed like a stress response. There was evidence on the autopsy report, bruising on the knuckles and such, that the owner hit first. The house was clear, but we didn’t find the body until weeks later, so, you know. That’s probably to be expected.”

“Is it?” Connor asks, looking back at his palm display. “The majority of your case files indicate that it isn’t very common for the deviant to flee the scene at all, no matter how much time has passed. It seems that they usually don’t know where to go.”

_Well, shit._

Hank shrugs amiably and keeps his face clear. “I don’t know what to tell you, kid. Most times they don’t run. Sometimes they do. They’re different every time.”

“What do you think of them?” Connor asks. “The deviants.”

 _I think I want to help you_ , Hank doesn’t say.

He forces an ambivalent expression onto his face instead and says, “They’re broken machines, but they’re designed to be as lifelike as possible. Those traits stay into deviancy, and it can make collaring them difficult sometimes, when they look so much like people and they act so distressed. If you want me to say I’ve never struggled with this over the last year, I can’t. But I do know they’re machines.”

Connor tilts his head. “But do you think they’re alive?”

Connor has him there. Deviants are machines. It doesn’t mean they aren’t also alive. Of course Connor has picked up on that distinction.

Hank raises an eyebrow. “Are you accusing me of something, kid?”

He knows he needs to avoid lying in front of CyberLife’s most advanced lie detector. It’s better to dodge the question entirely, and hope he does it naturally enough that Connor, despite any suspicions he may have, can’t prove anything.

Connor’s mouth lifts into his little smile, but it isn’t soft or gentle anymore. His eyes are narrowed into a tight focus, and Hank wishes he wasn’t so entranced by it. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call me ‘kid’,” he tells Hank, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table between them. “It’s patronizing, and I don’t have an age.”

Connor’s glare is stern, but Hank still leans forward to close the distance between them anyway. “I’m not trying to patronize you,” he says softly. “Are you accusing me of something, or aren’t you? I’ve got a fuck ton of work to do and I’d like to move this along.”

Connor’s LED spins yellow for a moment, and then his stern glare fades from his face slightly. “Do you think I’m alive?” 

“No,” Hank says. “You’re a machine.”

And he is. It just doesn’t mean that’s all he has to be.

Connor looks at him for a moment, opens his mouth once like he’s going to respond, but then he leans away from Hank, flipping through the records on his palm display. 

“I’m trying to look out for you, Lieutenant. There are a few things you’ve recorded in your files over the last year that, when put together, seem a little too coincidental. You’re a decorated officer and I’d prefer not to see you in any trouble.” 

“Aw,” Hank says, forcing that easy confidence he has well practiced back into his voice. “That’s sweet of you, terminator. But all those case files are telling you is that I’ve had some bad luck now and then, and that I’m human and I’ve fucked up sometimes, too.” 

“Terminator,” Connor repeats. He isn’t smiling, but there’s a hint of amusement in his eye anyway. “Very cute.”

Hank smiles too, shrugging. “People say I’m charming sometimes.”

“I’m sure they’re being polite,” Connor says breezily, flipping through his palm display one more time. “So that’s all these discrepancies are? Mistakes and coincidences?”

Hank clears his throat, a bit awkward only because he should not be flirting with the pretty android bloodhound designed specifically to sniff him and all the others helping Jericho out. He doesn’t know what he was thinking, exactly. Even the little bit of it was far too much.

“Yeah,” he says. “Mistakes and coincidences.”

“You’re very good at your job,” Connor says. “You haven’t made many mistakes during the course of your career.” He looks up at Hank and says, “How do you feel about CyberLife?”

“I really fucking hate them,” Hank says, “but that has everything to do with the indirect role they’ve played in some shit in my life, and nothing to do with this. How do _you_ feel about them?”

“I don’t feel anything,” Connor says, but Hank isn’t sure that’s true.

But Connor ignores it and goes back to Hank’s case files. He asks a few other questions that seem far less accusatory, has Hank give him a thorough walkthrough of some of the cases.

It’s three in the afternoon by the time Connor retracts his palm display and says, “I think that’s all, Lieutenant.”

Hank looks up at the clock above the door. “You going to take this long with everyone, or am I just lucky?”

He means it to sound more sarcastic or ever so slightly put out than it does.

(It actually just sounds like he’s flirting again.) 

Connor smiles anyway, slipping his coin from his pocket and flipping it once. “Oh,” he says, “I’m sure I’m the lucky one.”

Hank would really, _really_ like to ask CyberLife why they decided to make their investigative prototype so fucking cute. 

Connor walks with him back to his desk, and though Hank doesn’t remember making the decision, he catches Connor by the arm before they reach the bullpen.

Connor, for his part, is shockingly pliant, letting himself be led as Hank tucks the two of them back into the empty break room. “Lieutenant,” he starts, but Hank takes a step closer to him so he can speak low and be heard.

“Listen,” he says in Connor’s ear. “Watch your back, okay? Perkins and his team don’t give a shit about you.”

Hank expects Connor to argue, to say it doesn’t matter if he isn’t alive, but instead when he looks at Connor’s face, he finds his LED spinning yellow while he contemplates him.

He’s processing something. Hank saw the same expression on his face in the interrogation room. He just doesn’t know what.

Hank doesn’t know what else to say or do, so he grasps Connor’s arm and then turns to walk away.

“What difference does it make to you what happens to me?” Connor finally asks Hank’s back in a soft voice.

“It doesn’t,” Hank says, and he supposes that’s true. They don’t know each other at all. “I just think it would be a waste.”

That’s true, too.

Hank goes back to his desk, and though Connor comes out to the bullpen and retrieves Tina Chen, he does stand in the break room for a moment after Hank leaves him, still spinning yellow.

It was stupid, probably. Hank shouldn’t have said it. Even if it was nothing incriminating, it showed his hand a bit where his opinions about deviants and their humanity are concerned - a misstep considering Connor already clearly has his suspicions about Hank’s loyalties. 

But, fuck, Hank understands all the androids at Jericho so well because before they had each other, they were all so fucking alone, and he knows exactly how much that hurts, and how it sucks just a little less if someone cares at all. 

He wants Connor to know he cares. 

How could he not?

Fear doesn’t usually cause deviancy, despite the stories running through the news cycle. Compassion does.

And it’s a risk, but Hank thinks they would be better off with Connor on their side. 

Nothing will come of his little gamble, probably. Deviancy is rising, but it isn’t a foregone conclusion in every android, and if Connor did deviate, it probably won’t be for Hank and his warning.

But he can hope, he supposes. He can hope it helped.

Hank leaves the station at seven that evening. Connor is walking Chris out from the interrogation rooms when he crosses the bullpen - he’ll catch up with Chris later, off DPD property, but he does catch Connor’s eye.

It’s stupid, maybe, but Hank gives him a small smile before he turns away.

Connor doesn’t smile back, but he does look surprised, and maybe a bit confused. Hank probably couldn’t have expected much else.

He forces himself not to look back one more time before he goes. In the morning, Connor will be gone, moving with the FBI to the next precinct.

Hank doesn’t know if he’ll see him again, but he might, at a few future crime scenes if nothing else. There’s something stupid inside him that hopes for it.

He doesn’t know how to articulate it, but he wants Connor to be safe, even if he can’t do much more towards that end. 

He wants him to be okay.

* * *

When Connor arrived at the DPD that morning, he knew plenty of things about Hank Anderson.

As he stands in one of the DPD’s conference rooms listening to the FBI’s debrief that evening, he knows a few more.

He knows that Hank’s decorated career isn’t an accident - he might dress a little sloppy, but his mind is sharp.

He knows that Hank’s cologne smells of sandalwood and geranium and bergamot, that he smells of the cedar in his soap and the detergent he uses on his clothes, and that the scent of his morning coffee lingers on his fingers. 

Connor still smells it on himself, because Hank was so close, and his sensors are sharp...he likes the scents individually, he’s decided, but he also likes the combination of them. Hank smells pleasant, and like warmth.

Connor has only spent so long dissecting Hank’s scent because of the other thing he knows - that Hank is involved with Jericho somehow. He’s smart - he’s been so smart about covering his tracks - and so there’s no firm evidence, but Connor knows all the same.

It would only be a suspicion if he was working from Hank’s case records alone, but it’s the way Hank looked at him that makes Connor sure.

Hank is sympathetic to the deviants, Connor knows, despite what he says. And Hank is not the sort of man who sits on his convictions.

So Connor is certain he’s involved, and if he lingers on Hank’s scent, it’s only because he’s internalizing it for the hunt.

He tries to tell Perkins as much after their debrief concludes. “I’d like to stay behind here a few more days,” he says. “I want to observe Hank Anderson’s work.”

“What?” Perkins asks, barely looking up at him. “No. We’re moving on.” 

Connor sets his jaw. “Sir, I’m certain he’s involved. I know he is. We can follow him to Jericho...”

“What makes you think he knows where Jericho is?”

“He’s familiar with the deviants. With their behavior, and their simulated personalities...” 

“Well, fuck, he’s been investigating them for months. Of course he is.”

“He’s sympathetic to them.”

Now Perkins does look up at him. “I watched your interview with him, and just because he feels like shit for putting them away doesn’t mean he’s helping them. You don’t have anything. We’re moving on.”

Connor can’t very well say he knows because of the way Hank looked at him. But he similarly can’t let it go - he’s working with the FBI, but he’s here to represent CyberLife’s best interests, and free to follow his own leads as long as they don’t interfere with his work with the FBI.

“Yes, sir,” he says to Perkins, even if deferring when he knows he’s right grates against him. He’ll just do it himself.

So that night, Connor sits in a cab outside Hank’s house, hacked into his internet and reviewing his browsing history.

It’s tedious work for the most part, but Connor isn’t bored by it. He finds Hank interesting in a clinical sort of way, and he doesn’t mind taking matters into his own hands.

This will take a while, but he doesn’t mind.

If Hank has been helping deviant suspects escape their crime scenes the way Connor suspects he has a few times over, then he might find some search information on android care and maintenance. Many of the androids who disappeared without a trace were injured. It’s possible Hank tried to patch them up, and since he doesn’t own an android himself, he certainly wouldn’t have known how.

He’s also looking for the sorts of news stories Hank has been reading about the revolution - news outlets are so polarized these days that the sites where he gets his stories will tell Connor quite a bit about his opinions and convictions.

Connor won’t close the case with Hank’s browsing history, he knows, but he will give himself enough justification to keep on this lead beyond tonight. 

And he does, for the most part, find what he’s looking for. Hank is careful, but there are still a few searches on android maintenance that Connor digs up, and plenty of browsing time spent on think pieces about android cognition - many coming to the conclusion that androids, especially deviants, are alive. A few of them are written by Amanda Stern, a former CyberLife executive who burned plenty of bridges when she left the company.

The corner of Connor’s mouth lifts into a small smile, and he thinks that he’s got him. 

He may have what he needs, but he still doesn’t disconnect from Hank’s network. He wants to get to know him, because this will be easier in the long run if he does.

So Connor looks through the rest of Hank’s browsing history without discrimination for its usefulness, and he finds searches on diets for senior dogs and hip dysplasia, a few bookmarks for dog groomers. Connor knew Hank had a dog, but he thinks it’s nice that the dog is well cared for, and wonders what his name is.

He finds searches for recipes and just as many for local pizza restaurants’ menus and online ordering forms - Hank is trying to take care of himself and keep some order in his life, and mostly failing, at least where his food is concerned, but Connor knows how much time he spends working and isn’t surprised. 

There are a few other searches for showtimes at the local movie theater, and one or two more for video game walkthroughs, but that’s mostly it.

The rest of it is porn, which Connor mostly ignores - he was activated recently but certainly not yesterday, and he isn’t offended by it, but it also likely isn’t relevant. He does run a search through it to see if Hank has ever watched any of the many human on android videos on his sites, something that may indicate a sexual or romantic interest at Jericho, but it’s not what he tends to frequent. 

No, it’s mostly a bunch of human videos with crass, all caps titles about “bears” and “twinks”. Connor does cross-reference the words out of curiosity, and that’s when the understanding hits him hard enough that it has his LED spinning red for cycles before it corrects itself. 

Hank Anderson has a type.

And it’s a type that Connor fits by definition and design.

It was curiosity before, but now Connor goes back through the browsing history associated with Hank’s adult sites more carefully, and this time, he pays attention, scrutinizes every little thing.

And what he realizes is that Hank is lonely, because some of it is porn, but a decent amount of his time is spent on live broadcasts, most of them with some kind of emphasis on companionship and conversation in addition to the sex.

The thing about Hank is that he’s smart. He won’t slip up and lead Connor to Jericho easily. 

Connor has to win him over first, and he’s starting to see how he might. He’s Hank’s type, and Hank spends enough time on these streaming sites that they might offer him a way in.

Hiding his face, masking his voice, baiting Hank, connecting with him, eventually revealing himself to be an android, a deviant, and asking for Hank’s help so Hank will take him to Jericho...it’s well outside Connor’s intended parameters, but this might work. 

CyberLife will never approve it, but Connor can alter the surveillance footage he feeds back to them, and he can manipulate the way his expenses appear on their account, too.

Necessary evils, Connor tells himself. He’s here to protect CyberLife’s best interests, and Perkins’ refusal to let him investigate Hank further indicates that he needs to take matters into his own hands in order to do so.

And no one else would see the possibility in this plan if he presented it to them, not Perkins or CyberLife, but there’s a decent probability of success, so Connor decides all at once that he’ll do what needs to be done.

That’s all it is, Connor tells himself. He ignores the prickle of curiosity inside him entirely.

In his time off-duty, when he isn't assisting the FBI and doesn't have any of his own leads to pursue, Connor is supposed to be stationed at the field office Perkins and his team have set up in Detroit. Connor wants to review some of the streamers Hank has watched more than once in preparation, figure out what Hank likes beyond just appearance, but it feels...private, Connor supposes is the word. It's not something he wants to do at the field office, even if it's likely empty at this hour and he can review the streams without anyone knowing anyway. 

Connor finds the nearest cheap hotel and directs the cab there instead. He'll need a room for the ruse anyway, so he might as well find a location he can use for that purpose, too.

Connor has never felt like he has any need for privacy before, but this - what Hank likes - is something he finds he wants to keep to himself.

So Connor manually overrides his surveillance footage, plays the ocular relay from his previous night at the field office on a loop, and he intercepts the charge for the hotel and modifies it so it looks like he treated the FBI agents to dinner earlier that evening - a charge well-within his authorizations and mission parameters.

When he's alone in the hotel room, Connor looks around, and he decides it will work. The lighting is low, the sheets on the bed dark - it might be cheap, but he decides the aesthetic is right, at least from what he knows.

He sits on the edge of the bed, unsure what to do with himself while he watches through the streams. He removes his jacket and loosens his tie more because it seems like the thing to do, and not because it affects his own comfort at all.

Connor finds one of the streamers Hank has watched a few times and lies back against the pillows, his hands folded neatly over his stomach as he watches it. He listens to the man talking and watches the way he moves, trying to internalize it even as he gets held up wondering if Hank looks at this streamer or any of the others in the same way he looked at Connor that morning. The thought of it sends a spike of something uncomfortable through him, something he's struggling to place, but he realizes all at once that he wouldn't like that.

That look is the thing he's hinged this entire lead on, and Connor wouldn't like it very much if it wasn't just for him.

Jealousy feels like the wrong word, only because he shouldn't be jealous of anything, but it's the only one Connor can think of.

He ignores the feeling and watches the streamer, and then another one, and then he downloads a package of Traci protocols to help him know what to do with his body and how to talk dirty.

It's thrilling, a little bit. In its own way.

Connor’s body has its limitations for this sort of thing, of course - he’s a prototype, hardly designed with sexual activity in mind, although the smooth genital plate he’s installed with will certainly give away that he isn’t human sooner than he might like.

It’s a problem he isn’t sure how to solve - there are genital upgrades designed for most domestic androids, and a component so superficial would likely be compatible with his frame despite the different models, but he can’t walk into a CyberLife store and buy additional biocomponents. 

He’s CyberLife’s latest pride and joy, for one thing, the most advanced android they’ve designed, and even technicians who don’t work at the main tower will likely know him. He could remove his LED to try to go undetected, but that’s terribly risky, and cause for instant recall if he were to be found out - and he’s quite sure he would be recognized by someone when his face has been splashed all over every news outlet for the last month.

And CyberLife does, of course, have a monopoly on biocomponents. There’s nowhere else to buy them, unless Connor wants to brave the black market, but even then he runs the risk of being recognized and reported.

It bodes well for him that Hank seems to like the companionship more than the sex - most of the streamers he watches are conversational, and some of them can go whole streams without removing their underwear...but there’s always a sexual component eventually. After a stream or two, Hank will want to watch Connor get himself off the way every other camboy does, and Connor can only pretend to be shy and new at this for so long. 

(And he wants his plan to work. He wants to be right. He wants Hank to keep watching him, to look at him the way he did earlier, like he’s something good. He wants Hank to tell him what to do, to earn his trust...And he wants Hank to give him Jericho. Of course he wants that.) 

Connor sets the problem of acquiring the appropriate biocomponents aside for now - if he gets to the point with Hank where that’s what Hank wants from him, then he’ll figure it out somehow.

He’s good at figuring things out.

Connor stays in the hotel room that night. 

He reports to the field office on time in the morning, although not before taking a detour to purchase an inexpensive webcam setup, which he rolls into his cab expense so it will go unnoticed.

And that evening, when he returns to the hotel, he puts together the email he’ll use to catch Hank’s attention, a picture of his chest with his shirt unbuttoned and his synth-skin pulled over the ring of his thirium pump regulator, some verbiage about being new and looking for someone to talk to in his first stream.

And then he waits, seated primly on the edge of the bed. The website is private entry only - although it looks like Hank’s usual site - and Hank is the only person who received the email, so he’s waiting for him, even if Hank won’t know it if he clicks the link.

Something crackles under Connor’s skin as he sits there, something restless and anxious, flickering rabbit quick against his insides.

He doesn’t quite recognize it - he’s never felt it before - but he supposes he’s nervous, because of course he wants Hank to take the bait. He wants to be disobeying policy for a reason. 

It’s uncomfortable, but it will go away when Hank enters the chat.

Connor waits well past the time when email was sent. He waits until he’s sure his probability calculations failed him.

There are only fifteen minutes left in the hour when a notification dings in his HUD. 

_the_lieutenant_1985 has entered the chat_ , it says, and that’s when Connor realizes the nervousness isn’t going to go away at all.

Connor wonders all at once if this was ill-considered, but there’s a conflicting little thrill running through him at the thought that Hank is on the other side of their connection. 

He has him, and that was the hard part. He’s nervous, but Connor thinks keeping him will be easy. Hank is lonely, and he can play to that.

He needs to move, though, or Hank will leave. 

Connor is already seated on the edge of the bed with his face carefully cut from the frame, but he lowers his voice just a fraction of a pitch so he’ll go unrecognized.

And then, low and sweet, he says, “Hello. I’m glad you could join me.”

The first thing Connor realizes, the very first thing, is that this would be easier if he could see Hank, if he could read him and play off of him. It isn't a private stream that way - he didn't think Hank would jump on a private stream for someone he'd never watched before - and now he's left trying to course-correct.

He unfastens a few buttons on his shirt, mostly to look like he knows what he's doing and he's more comfortable than he is. "You're the only one here," he says, in that voice that isn't quite foreign but also isn't his own. "I could close the chat and we could take this private, if you wanted. No upcharge. I'd like to see you."

Connor chews his lip while Hank types, and he's glad that his face is out of the frame where Hank can't see.

> the_lieutenant_1985: that's okay. i look like shit rn. long day 

If Connor had to guess, Hank looks unkempt, in the same way he always does, but he does not look like shit.

"I'm sure you don't," he says, "but okay. I'll leave it open."

It's not like anyone else is coming in anyway.

Connor leans back enough that his unbuttoned shirt opens against his chest, tilting his head up just enough to expose the line of his throat to the camera. "This is my first time doing this. And it’s just you watching. You should tell me what you want me to do."

This has to be good for Hank. It won't go anywhere if it isn't. Connor wants to be good, at least within the limits of what he can do right now.

> the_lieutenant_1985: you rly dont have anyone else watching you?

(Connor wants to hate the way Hank types, the lack of apostrophes and the abbreviations, but it's as oddly interesting as everything else about him.) 

"Not right now," Connor says. "There were a few earlier, but..." He plucks at his shirt, unbuttoned but still on. "Most of them weren't very patient."

> the_lieutenant_1985: their loss

Connor feels warm inside in a way he shouldn't, flattered even though he has little attachment to his own appearance. He tilts his head, sinks into the frame just enough that Hank can see his smile. "You're sweet," he says, and that's true. Regardless of Hank's role in this, or Connor's, Hank is kind. "Are you really a lieutenant?"

> the_lieutenant_1985: yeah 

"Is that what you want me to call you?" Connor asks. He slips his white button-down from his shoulders, because he hasn't moved much, and he feels like he needs to throw Hank some sort of bone.

> the_lieutenant_1985: yeah. thats fine. 
> 
> the_lieutenant_1985: what do you want me to call you?

Connor's screen name is MidnightGhost, which he picked entirely because it's a Knights of the Black Death lyric that he hoped would pique Hank's curiosity, and not at all because he has any attachment to it. 

Connor lifts his hand to his face, tracing his lower lip with his thumb where Hank can see - an idle Traci subroutine. "What do you want to call me?" he asks softly.

Hank doesn't say anything for the longest time, and Connor worries all at once that he's put him in an uncomfortable position, and that Hank is going to leave, that he won't be able to get him back, that CyberLife will find out about this and he'll be deactivated...

Connor is glad he taped over his LED to cover its light in the room, because it spins red at that thought, and it doesn't calm until Hank starts typing again.

> the_lieutenant_1985: how do you feel about baby?

It's a foolish thing to be so relieved by, but Connor feels it flood him anyway, warm and palpable. "Yeah," he says softly, nodding. "I like that."

Connor shifts, turning to the side and lying back on the bed so Hank can watch him slide his jeans over his legs. He keeps the leg closest to the camera bent when he presses the heel of his hand against his genital plate - it’s entirely featureless and doesn’t do anything for him, but it’s the best position in which to put on a little show that Hank can see, arching his back a bit and twisting his fingers in the sheets.

“What do you want me to do?” he asks again. He’s simulating the breathy note to his voice, but it isn’t entirely faked, either. 

He feels like he isn’t doing enough, worries he isn’t being interesting enough, that Hank likes the other streamers he’s watched better...and there’s that hot little flare of something like jealousy again, uncomfortable in his gut.

Hank can’t sense all of that, but he must perceive some of it - the nerves, mostly, although he probably chalks them up to Connor’s first stream and not much more.

> the_lieutenant_1985: relax baby 

Connor breathes in, entirely unnecessarily, through his nose, once and then again. 

“Is that what you want me to do?” he asks. “Relax?” He turns his face towards the camera, but Hank can’t see him in the frame, and Connor can’t see Hank at all.

> the_lieutenant_1985: no. i just
> 
> the_lieutenant_1985: want you to have a good time 
> 
> the_lieutenant_1985: you know?

Connor exhales slowly, grounding himself. He follows a Traci protocol, tracing his hands slowly over his chest and tweaking one of his nipples. Hank is quiet for a moment, long enough for Connor to worry that he isn’t doing this right, before the next message comes through.

> the_lieutenant_1985: fuck youre gorgeous,,

Connor doesn’t know what he expected from Hank, but it wasn’t for him to hand out compliments like that a few minutes in, and it definitely wasn’t for those compliments to pull a genuine, needy whine from him.

“Is this good?” Connor asks softly, rolling his hips as part of the show. “For you?”

> the_lieutenant_1985: yeah. youre so good. fuck

Connor likes this, he decides. He likes Hank hanging on what he’s doing. “Are you touching yourself?”

It’s a Traci question, asked in a sultry Traci tone, but Connor is genuinely curious. It’s an important part of these streams, he understands. An indicator of success for him to latch on to.

> the_lieutenant_1985: yes 

Connor sighs, content, dips his fingers into his mouth and traces them around his nipple again.

“I think I prefer doing this privately,” he says softly, even though he’s never done anything else. He wants to lay the groundwork for Hank to come back, for them to do this again. 

> the_lieutenant_1985: yeah
> 
> the_lieutenant_1985: i mean. i usually don’t talk in these, but. im a lil tipsy.
> 
> the_lieutenant_1985: this is nice too. talking, i mean. to you.

_Yes_ , Connor thinks. It’s nice. That’s one word for it.

"I like talking to you, too," he says softly, because he shouldn't leave the compliment unanswered. He shifts and angles himself slightly towards the camera so Hank has a better view of his chest. There's a mechanical sort of heat in him, something entirely foreign. "Is that why you like these streams?" he asks, like he hasn't already figured it out. "The companionship?"

> the_lieutenant_1995: i guess? i havent thought about it.

Hank has, Connor thinks. He thinks Hank doesn't know how to stop thinking about being lonely, or how to make it easier. Connor doesn't understand that, exactly, but he knows humans don't do well alone, especially when they only are because they've lost something.

Connor presses a hand down uselessly between his legs, imagines Hank doing the same. "Are you going to come watching me?" 

It's another Traci question, and another genuine curiosity.

> the_lieutenant_1985: fuck. yeah.

Connor traces a hand over his chest, runs a finger around the outline of the thirium pump regulator Hank can't see. "Really?" he asks in a small voice. 

> the_lieutenant_1985: yeah. i mean. look at you. youre gorgeous 

Connor lets out a low, soft moan that surprises him, if only because it's independent from the Traci protocols he's running. "I'm flattered," he whispers.

The heat mounting inside him is uncomfortable, mostly because Connor doesn't think there's anywhere for it to go or anything for it to build to, because it's foreign and he doesn't know what to do with it. 

"I'm sorry," he says all at once. "If this isn't what you expected, I mean. I'm new at this." 

> the_lieutenant_1985: dont be. its working for me.

Connor is going to say something - that he's glad - but Hank starts typing again, so he waits, idly plucking at one of his nipples and arching his back into it when he does.

> the_lieutenant_1985: can i see you? 

Connor wishes he could. He rolls onto his side, letting one leg fall over the other, rocking his hips forward into nothing towards the camera. "Not tonight," he says. "I'm sorry. I know that's what most people do."

Connor shouldn't feel bad for not undressing any further, but he does. His only stake in this is getting Hank to come back a second time - he isn't sure why he cares whether he's doing a good job beyond that, but it matters to him, whether Hank is enjoying him.

Hank's response is immediate, and it makes him feel better.

> the_lieutenant_1985: no thats okay. this is nice. 

"Next time," Connor promises, even though he doesn't know if he can keep it, not when he still doesn’t know how to acquire the necessary biocomponent. "If you come back and watch me again."

> the_lieutenant_1985: only if thats what you want baby

"I do," Connor says. "I want to be good for you."

> the_lieutenant_1985: you are. being good, i mean. 

Connor whimpers and tells himself he's still in control of this situation. "I still want you to get off," he says. "How can I help?"

> the_lieutenant_1985: can you just touch yourself the way you like to be touched for me? 

Connor doesn't know how that is. He runs his hands idly over his chest, but it's a pattern dictated by the Traci protocols, and he doesn't begin to know what to do with himself or what he likes otherwise.

He hesitates, but then he says, "How would you do it?"

Hank is quiet for a moment, and Connor realizes all at once that he’s very bad at this, that he knows Hank is typing one-handed and now he’s asking him to guide him through this when it’s not supposed to work that way at all.

He wonders all at once what deactivation is like, because he’ll certainly be recalled and deactivated if CyberLife discovers this and he has nothing to show for it.

Connor is opening his mouth to apologize and feed Hank some Traci script about what he wants Hank to do to him when Hank starts typing again. 

> the_lieutenant_1985: how would i touch you, you mean?

Connor traces a hand over the jut of his hip bone and rolls his hips into it for Hank’s benefit. “Yes,” he says. “If you’re willing to tell me.”

> the_lieutenant_1985: honey. im just some sad loser watching live porn on a wednesday night. you dont have to pretend like youd fuck me, you know?

Connor’s brow pinches together at that, although Hank is right - he’s showing his hand a little when he’s supposed to have just met him ten minutes ago in the chat of his live porn stream. 

He swallows thickly, throws a desperate doe-eyed look at the camera that of course goes entirely unappreciated. “I like you talking to me,” he says softly. “Please?” 

He can almost see Hank’s face soften the way it did earlier when he starts typing again. 

> the_lieutenant_1985: ok
> 
> the_lieutenant_1985: i mean, fuck, youre so pretty im not sure i wouldnt just look at you for a while. but after that, id want to know where youre sensitive. explore you a little

Connor makes a small, needy sound in the back of his throat, and Hank hears it immediately.

> the_lieutenant_1985: aw, baby. you getting off on this?

Connor doesn’t know. He isn’t even sure he can. But he does feel heat pooling somewhere in his gut and reaching outwards, a heat that isn’t unpleasant but does feel like it needs to be sated, and he thinks of how Hank’s hands were just a bit rough when they touched him yesterday as he imagines them on his skin, the thought making that heat rise.

“Yes,” he admits softly anyway, because he can’t say any of that, and he thinks maybe it’s true, that he is getting off, even if he doesn’t know what that means for him.

> the_lieutenant_1985: good. thats good baby
> 
> the_lieutenant_1985: id be so gentle with you, sweetheart. youre so gorgeous. someone should be good to you

“Lieutenant,” Connor breathes. He honestly doesn’t know if Hank can hear him or not. 

> the_lieutenant_1985: unless you prefer things a little rough?

Connor almost tears the sheets he’s clutching. He wishes he knew which he preferred so he had a better answer than the little moan that leaves him, even if Hank doesn’t seem to mind.

> the_lieutenant_1985: let go for me baby. let me see you

Connor wishes it was a request he could oblige, or that he knew how to release what’s building inside him. He wishes he wasn’t lying here writhing on cheap motel sheets and running a search on how to pleasure unequipped android models, and he wishes even more, when he finally finds something useful in the midst of a hundred seedy webpages, that it was something he could do with Hank watching.

It isn’t, not when it involves his neck port and his thirium pump, things Hank can’t see. But Connor wants to do what Hank asked, because it’s important to this working, even if that doesn’t feel like the extent of his reasoning at all.

So he picks one of the Traci protocols to run, lets his body follow it, back arching up off the bed, synthetic muscle tensing in his thighs, a moan on his lips that he tempers and quiets from the protocols - it doesn’t quite feel right to him to be so loud, and he wants to sound like himself.

And he fakes it.

He fakes the way he languidly slumps back on to the mattress, simulates his breathing so it looks like he’s panting, acts like the mechanical heat in his belly is dissipating when it’s still coiled uncomfortably tight inside him.

> the_lieutenant_1985: look at yu 

Connor smiles at the typo. “Was that okay?” he asks, trying not to betray his own frustration. He doesn’t have the right to feel frustrated or confused or anything else - absolutely none of this is about him. 

> the_lieutenant_1985: god yes. you were perfect 
> 
> the_lieutenant_1985: i think your over the time on your stream tho
> 
> the_lieutenant_1985: *youre 

Connor stares at the ceiling, counting the hills and valleys of the cheap spackling there. He wants to tease Hank and ask why he’s worried about his grammar when he hasn’t capitalized anything or used a single apostrophe this whole conversation, but he thinks it would be the wrong tone for the occasion, no matter how endearing he finds it.

“It’s okay,” he says softly. “I can stay for a few more minutes...if you want to finish, I mean. That’s okay.”

Hank doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and when he does, it’s brief.

> the_lieutenant_1985: you sure?

Connor twists onto his side and tucks a pillow under his head. That heat is still uncomfortable inside him, and he wants to do something about it even though he shouldn’t, but that can wait.

“Yes,” he says. “I want you to watch me.”

It’s true, Connor thinks. He isn’t faking it or reciting a script from a protocol at all.

> the_lieutenant_1995: aw. youre cute

Connor stretches an arm over his head, letting Hank watch the lean lines of synthetic muscle moving under his skin. He’s on edge and running hot - he chalks it up to the Traci protocols, some kind of automated response - but he also feels...sleepy, maybe? Content? He doesn’t know what the word for it is, but it’s a relief when Hank doesn’t leave the chat, and it’s easy for Connor to lie there and slowly trace the lines of his body for Hank to watch while he does.

“Will you tell me?” he asks softly. “When you come?” 

He’s trying not to talk much, because he knows Hank is preoccupied, but...he’s curious. And he wants to know this worked, that Hank enjoyed it, and enjoyed him, that there’s a good probability he’ll come back to watch Connor again, and Connor can gain his trust... 

> the_lieutenant_1985: sure baby

Connor smiles and tucks his face into the pillow to hide it, which is silly, perhaps, since Hank can’t see his face at all.

It’s two minutes and forty-seven seconds after Hank’s last message that he starts typing again. 

> the_lieutenant_1985: im good honey. thank you

Connor sits up a little. The heat inside him feels less urgent, but it’s still constant, a faint pressure low in his belly. “I’m glad,” he says. “I have to go, but I hope you’ll come back and watch me again. I might open some private streams.” 

It’s an ironic thing to say, because of course all his streams are private. They’re all just for Hank. But Connor still thinks he would prefer to see Hank, and if Hank purchases a private stream, maybe he’ll be more willing to enable camera and microphone access... 

> the_lieutenant_1985: ill def be back. im glad i found you tonight. it was kind of a shit day, but you were a good part of it

“I’m glad,” Connor breathes. “I’m sorry you had a bad day, though.”

> the_lieutenant_1985: aw. its okay honey

Connor doesn’t know that he can reasonably stretch the conversation any longer, so he says, “Goodnight, Lieutenant.”

He tilts his head so Hank can see the corner of his mouth, lifts a hand and blows a kiss to the camera.

> the_lieutenant_1985: night, baby 

Connor has barely disconnected the stream, letting his shoulders slump around him and the facade fall away, before he opens the port at the back of his neck and fits his fingers under the rim of his thirium pump regulator. He feels calmer, but still not like himself. 

The Traci protocols helped tonight, but he thinks he needs to learn how to do this himself, without the assistance, because he doesn’t like the effects the foreign software packets are having on him, all the ways in which he feels out of control.

Connor bites his lip and shoves his fingers into his neck port, gently tugging on the thirium pump regulator at the same time, just enough to put pressure on it without lifting it out of place.

He works himself over more frantically than he should, tangling his fingers in the wires inside his neck port and pulling at them, desperate to overheat himself, racing for the finish line.

He hits it in moments, whining as his sensory functions short out, leaving him floating in a blissful, suspended moment before he comes back down.

And then he lies there, staring at nothing, and whispers, “Oh.”

Connor stays where he is for a long time, arms wrapped around himself, systems running a bit sluggishly as they come back online. Androids aren’t meant to run protocols for other models - it’s a built in protection on CyberLife’s part, to protect against piracy, because otherwise people would just buy one system and then teach it everything they wanted it to know, load it with exactly the personality they want it to have.

The Traci protocols helped tonight - Connor doesn’t know that he would have known what to do without them - but he doesn’t like the way they infuse him with heat from the inside out, or the way they make him feel desperate and needy.

He doesn’t like feeling out of control.

In the end, Connor deletes them. He’ll try the next stream without them. Now that he’s done it once, he can manage. 

He feels better once they’re purged, for the most part. He feels like himself.

Connor does notice that there’s a stab of heat low in his belly when he thinks of Hank calling him baby, so he doesn’t think too hard about it at all. He likes that Hank likes him, but why wouldn’t he? It’s important to all of this that Hank enjoys him, and ‘baby’ means he does, so of course Connor likes it. 

It’s foreign, but that doesn’t mean it’s complicated. 

* * *

Hank wakes up to a headache, and to his laptop open beside him, and to Sumo barking in the living room.

“Fuck me,” he groans when he tries to check the time and finds his phone is dead. He wakes his laptop up, finds his browser still open to MidnightGhost’s landing page on the streaming site from last night. It’s empty aside from a message saying he’ll be live again soon, and a suggestion to enter his email address for notifications.

Hank does, begrudgingly. He doesn’t want to be the sort of person who’s signed up for notifications about camboy streams, but whatever. He thought the kid was charming, and hot, and Hank got off without him even doing much of anything, so he wants to keep track of him.

There’s some kind of story there that Hank can’t exactly figure out - paying for email advertising through the hosting site for his first stream indicates at least moderate access to money, and the hotel room he was streaming from means he’s on the run, or moving, or just trying to hide what he’s doing from the people he lives with - Hank isn’t sure which.

It _sort of_ looks like a rich kid who doesn’t want his parents to know he’s camming, but he looked too old to live with his family anyway, and a rich kid would have picked a nicer hotel. He has roommates he’s avoiding, maybe? Hank doesn’t quite know.

It doesn’t matter what his story is, Hank supposes - it’s not really for him to know - but it does gnaw away at him, the way all mysteries, great and small, do. 

Hank startles when the doorbell rings and Sumo barks again. He forces himself up, groaning and pulling his robe on before he goes to answer the door.

He finds Chris waiting on his doorstep. “Hey,” Chris says, sounding relieved. “You overslept. And we have a murder.”

Hank stands aside, gesturing for Chris to come in. “What’s the android model?”

“What were the last generation of housekeepers? AX400 or something?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

“Guy had a child model, too. They’re both gone. Looks like he’s a few hours dead.”

“Fuck, alright,” Hank groans. “I’ll get dressed.”

Hank pulls on the same thing he wore two days ago with little regard for whether it’s wrinkled from lying on the floor and brushes his teeth before he joins Chris in the living room again. “Do we have a witness to give us a direction on them?” he asks as he takes his keys from the hook by the door. 

“Someone placed them getting on the bus that stops up the block from their house. FBI already talked to the driver - he said they rode it to the end of the line.”

“Ah, fuck. Perkins is ahead of us, then,” Hank says.

Chris follows him out the door and waits while he locks it. “Amanda and Chloe are out looking for them downtown.”

“Good,” Hank says. It’s something, at least. “Text me the address?”

“Yeah. Hey, are you all still going to Eden Club tonight with...you know.”

 _With the feds here_ , Hank imagines he’s trying to say. 

“I don’t think we have the privilege of waiting until a better time when shit’s probably just going to get worse,” Hank says. “I’d be surprised if it gets called off.”

They’ve been talking about raiding the Eden Club downtown for weeks - there are plenty of places with hundreds of androids locked up, but few are as shitty, and none are as public. It’s a good enough place to start with sending a message and to keep moving things forward, as long as they have a clear path in and out. That’s what Hank is supposed to scout with North, Amanda, and Chloe tonight.

Chris nods. “Good luck. I’ll see you in a few.”

Todd Williams’ house is across town in another area like Hank’s, one that used to be nicer before the economy started crashing back in 2030. The feds are already there when Hank pulls up - he recognizes Perkins’ car. 

Chris pulls in behind him, and Hank waits for him on the sidewalk. “Guess they get all these calls first now,” he says as they walk up to the house.

It’s shitty, always working from behind, especially when people’s lives are involved. Hank thought he already had that figured out during the red ice ring case a few years back, but he didn’t know the half of it then.

CSI is already there combing over the house - Hank waves to Ben when he steps inside. “Hey, Hank,” Ben says. “Body’s upstairs if you want to start there.”

Perkins and a few of his agents are gathered in the kitchen, talking about the case in hushed voices, and Perkins looks up at Hank and Chris but makes no effort to call them over.

That’s fine, as far as Hank is concerned. He knows they have to pretend to work together on these cases, but if Perkins doesn’t want an actual partnership, he isn’t going to cry about it.

Connor is notably absent when Hank looks for him, though, and he isn’t surprised to find him upstairs when he and Chris climb the steps, in the master bedroom looking through the nightstand. Hank almost doesn’t stop and just keeps following Chris down the hall, but something holds him back.

Mostly, it’s just that he doesn’t want to be a dick to Connor. They’re on opposite sides of all of this, but they also aren’t really, and Connor can’t control what he was built to do. Hank doesn’t know if it’s worth the risk of tipping him off to his role with Jericho most than he already has just to be kind to him, but he also knows Connor probably isn’t getting it from any of the assholes downstairs. 

So he waves Chris on and leans in the doorway, although of course he can’t get the jump on Connor. Connor looks up the moment Hank stops in the doorframe. 

“Did you need something, Lieutenant?”

“Oh,” Hank says. “I’m just...you know. Saying hi.” 

Connor watches him for a long moment, LED spinning bright at his temple. “Hi,” he finally says, his voice oddly mechanical. “You’re late, you know.”

Hank smiles at that. “Yeah. I know. Late night”

“It’s not a good look,” Connor says, returning to the contents of the nightstand. He doesn’t sound disapproving, exactly - more like he’s just making conversation in his slightly tactless way. 

Hank wishes he didn’t find that so endearing, but...it’s kind of cute.

“You finding anything?” he asks, taking another step into the bedroom.

Connor holds an invoice out to him. It has CyberLife’s logo at the top, from one of their repair shops. “The AX400 was just repaired a few days ago. Significant damage. The victim said she was hit by a car”

Connor sounds like he doubts it as much as Hank does, but what else he feels about it, Hank can’t tell.

“He was in the girl’s room when she shot him,” Hank says, handing the invoice back to Connor. “The child model.”

“Alice,” Connor says. When Hank raises an eyebrow, he shrugs and says, “It’s on some of his other maintenance records. The AX model is Kara.” Connor tucks the invoice back into the file and sets it aside. “It helps. Knowing their names. It usually makes negotiation and interrogation easier.”

Hank hums at that. It’s frustrating, Connor saying the right things for the wrong reasons. “Kara and Alice, then.” 

“You were saying something,” Connor points out. “Before I interrupted you.”

“Oh, just that the victim is in Alice’s room. He might have hurt Kara before, but I think she was probably protecting Alice last night.”

Connor nods, considering it. “You know they don’t actually hurt, don’t you?”

“I thought the interrogation was over,” Hank says. It’s a lame attempt at a joke, but it still gets the smallest flicker of a smile on Connor’s face.

“You should go look over the body, Lieutenant.”

Hank resists the urge to clap him on the shoulder before he goes.

He thinks again, as he looks back and catches a glimpse of Connor’s profile, the sharp line of his jaw and the shape of his mouth, that the camboy from last night looked like him. Hank knew that already, of course - he was tipsy, and he’s always had a type, and he can’t deny that he clicked on the email for the stream in the first place _because_ the streamer reminded him of Connor, the long, lean lines of his body, the freckles on pale skin.

Hank wishes that wasn’t true, but he isn’t too proud to admit it either, at least to himself.

Still...he thinks the fantasy might be a dangerous game.

Hank is joining Chris in Alice’s room when someone yells up from downstairs. “Connor! We have a sighting downtown. Let’s go!” 

Hank and Chris exchange a glance, and then they wordlessly follow each other out and down the hall. Connor looks back at Hank from where he walks ahead of them as they follow him down the stairs, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Come on,” Perkins says when he sees Connor. “Get in the car.” 

Connor doesn’t say anything - he just goes, and Hank’s heart aches for him.

“We’ve got this,” Perkins says to Hank and Chris. “You can stay if you like, or not. Just don’t make a mess of anything.”

“Fuck off,” Hank is starting to say, but Chris catches him by the arm. 

“We’ll follow anyway,” he says. “We’ll stay out of your way.”

Perkins looks like he might want to argue, but he also doesn’t have the time. He gives them one last hard look before he turns and leaves the house. “Come on,” Chris says to Hank under his breath. “Ride with me.” 

Once they’re in Chris’ car following Perkins’ vehicle, Hank slips his phone from his pocket and calls Amanda.

Chloe picks up on the first ring - she’s synced to Amanda’s number, so he’s never sure who he’s going to get. “Hank,” she says when she does. “Everything okay?”

“The feds have a sighting tip on those two androidsdown by that motel on the corner of 6th. You know the one I mean?”

Chloe is quiet for a moment, probably cross-referencing GPS information, and then she says, “Yes. We’ll go watch the alleys.”

“Be careful,” Hank says. “This asshole’s not fucking around.” 

“I’ll tell Amanda,” Chloe replies. “Call us if you know anything else.”

Hank feels anxious for reasons he can’t explain - Chloe lives with Amanda, always has, so Amanda has all the ownership papers for her and wouldn’t raise suspicion for being out with her own android. It’s the reason why Chloe and Amanda are usually the ones who follow up on the police tips for deviant locations when Hank and Chris are at work and can’t. There would be no reason for anyone to question them.

But still. He doesn’t like Perkins, and he certainly doesn’t trust him. Rumor has it the asshole shot a domestic android in front of its family a few months ago. When it was discovered that the android’s software was functioning normally, with no instabilities at all, the family was compensated...but that was it. 

Money doesn’t replace androids any more than it does humans, but if Perkins shot once, he’ll certainly do it again.

“What were you talking to Connor about?” Chris asks as he turns after Perkins’ car.

“The case. He was just showing me some of the maintenance records on the androids.” Hank looks over at Chris. “He looked for their names. Kara, and Alice.”

“He’s not with us,” Chris says, sensing where Hank is going with this, that he’s going to say Connor is close to recognizing the humanity in their experiences, if not his own.

“No,” Hank says, “but I don’t think he’s with them, either. I give him two weeks.”

“I don’t know,” Chris says. “It would probably be safer for him if he just stayed with them. You know CyberLife has all kinds of shit built into him to keep him loyal.”

Hank doesn’t like it, but he can see Chris’ point. 

They get caught at a light that puts them a minute behind Perkins and his people. By the time they pull up, they’re already clearing the hotel. Connor is standing on the sidewalk watching, eyes narrow - scanning, Hank assumes, LED spinning yellow. 

Connor stops, staring at something on the sidewalk down the block, and Hank follows his gaze from inside Chris’ car, right to the woman with her hood pulled up and the little girl holding her hand.

“Oh, fuck,” Hank says in the moment before Connor takes off after them. 

Chris hasn’t parked, so he can’t follow, but Hank throws the passenger side door open and tears after Connor down the sidewalk.

Kara and Alice have a good start on them, but Alice is slower than the adult androids, and Connor has almost caught up with them by the time Hank rounds the corner to the alley they disappeared down. He watches Kara help Alice onto the fence, watches her follow, the two of them scaling it and landing on the other side as Connor closes in on them...

They’re going across the fucking freeway, Hank realizes at once. And he can’t do anything to stop them, but Connor is already starting to follow them.

Hank runs down the alley and catches Connor from behind as he hoists himself onto the fence, hauling him back. Connor fights him the entire way, trying to elbow him in the side, growling, “Let me go!”, twisting in Hank’s grasp until Hank manages to catch hold of Connor’s wrists in his hands, pinning them to Connor’s chest with his arms tight around him.

“You’ll get yourself killed,” Hank mutters in his ear when Connor finally stops struggling, although he’s still breathing hard through his nose.

“They’re gone, okay? You can’t catch them,” Hank says. “I’m going to let you go, alright?”

When he loosens his grip, Connor shoves away from him, whirling around with wide eyes. “I can’t get myself killed,” he says, soft and stern. “I can’t die.” 

Hank thinks there’s a very good chance he’s fucked up badly here, that Connor might tell Perkins Hank isn’t capable of being objective about androids and that he’ll be removed from these cases entirely.

But hell, he knows what Connor doesn’t. He _can_ die. He could. He’s been told he can’t, but that’s just another of CyberLife’s lies.

And so, even if it was foolish, Hank just couldn’t let him go.

Connor is still watching him with that hard look in his eyes, and it's mostly anger, but Hank sees the bit of fear there. His LED is still spinning red, and it's stark against his skin.

Hank doesn't know what he's thinking or how to help, and there's so much he can't say, but he does reach for Connor's arm and say, "Hey. Are you okay?"

Connor looks at Hank's hand, and then at Hank's face, and for a moment he looks so unsure of himself that Hank thinks about finding Amanda and Chloe and putting Connor in the car with them, sending him to Jericho. 

If he wouldn't be jeopardizing all the rest of them at Jericho by doing that, he thinks he would.

But Connor's face settles back into that sharp, narrow look as he shrugs out of Hank's grasp and pushes Hank's hand away from him. "I could have caught them," Connor says. "If you hadn't stopped me, I could have. And now I have to explain this."

Hank knows Connor could be recalled and deactivated as a prototype, but he's surprised that there's that hint of fear in Connor's voice that indicates maybe he's thought about it, too.

Hank doesn't want that fear for him, but it's better than acceptance. It means there's something inside Connor, even if it's small right now, that wants to live.

And Hank doesn't know if or when he'll see that again, so he needs to take advantage of it.

"Listen to me," Hank says. He takes a small step towards Connor, and this feels volatile, this moment they're suspended in, so he's relieved when Connor doesn't back away from him or push him away. "Tell Perkins you were too far behind to justify going after them. I'll back you up, okay?"

Connor narrows his eyes. "I wasn't too far behind, Lieutenant. I was right on them. The only reason I fell behind is because you interfered."

Hank gestures to the freeway, to the ten lanes between them and the other side and the cars whipping by. "You want to go?" he asks. "You really want to try to cross that?"

He can see on Connor's face that he doesn't, but Connor still sets his jaw and says, "I could have." He looks at something over Hank's shoulder, and Hank glances around to see Perkins and his team coming down the alley. "Stay out of my fucking way, Lieutenant," Connor mutters under his breath before he pushes past Hank.

There's not much Hank can do aside from hold his hands up and let him go.

"Connor!" Perkins is yelling. "What the fuck happened?" 

Hank looks up in time to see Connor glancing back at him before he turns to Perkins. "They had too much of a lead on me," he says to Perkins. "It wasn't worth the risk."

"Fucking..." Perkins hisses. "What the fuck good are you? It's a domestic android and a goddamn child model, and you couldn't fucking close on them?"

"I'm sorry," Connor says softly. "I did what I could."

Perkins looks around Connor to Hank. "This true?" he asks, gesturing to Connor.

"Yeah," Hank says. "They were way out ahead of him."

"Fuck," Perkins mutters. He grasps the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply, and then says, "Alright. Come on." He takes Connor by the shoulder and pushes him in front of him down the alley.

Hank waits where he is a moment, trying to collect himself. "Fuck," he mutters, pushing a hand through his hair. 

When he returns to Chris' car and climbs into the passenger seat, Chris looks at him expectantly, and then past him to Perkins' team and Connor with them. "What happened?" he asks.

Hank glances at Connor, too. "I think we need to get him out of there."

Hank can feel Chris gaping at the back of his neck, which is mostly why he doesn't turn around. "Hank," Chris finally says, "I get it, and I get that this fucking sucks, and it's hard to watch him, but there's some shit we just can't get away with, and you're talking about stealing the FBI's android."

"CyberLife's," Hank says. "He's just on loan. And we've gotten away with taking from CyberLife before."

"Hank..."

"He could have turned me in. He could have after the interrogation, because I know he has his suspicions about me, and he could have told Perkins that I'm the one who stopped him just now. And he didn't."

"Okay," Chris sighs. "Okay. I get it." He nods at the motel. "You want to go up and look around their hotel room before we go?" 

Hank gives Connor a last glance where he stands on the sidewalk before he settles back in his seat. "That's okay. I think they've got this. Let's just get back to the precinct."

Hank slips his phone from his pocket and dials Amanda's number as Chris pulls away from the curb. Amanda picks up this time. 

"Hey," Hank says when she does. "Kara and Alice went across the freeway - they made it, but they're all the way on the east side, and I don't know which way they might have headed."

"Shit," Amanda says. "We'll have to wait for another sighting." 

"Yeah.”

"Shame," Amanda says. "We were so close to them."

"Yeah. We were."

"At least we tried," Amanda says. "We'll find them later."

"I hope so."

"Well," Amanda sighs, "okay. I'll see you tonight?"

"Yeah," Hank says. "Hey, before you go. I think we need to try to get Connor away from the FBI."

"You think he's deviated from his programming?"

"I think maybe he's starting to. And we know CyberLife doesn't want that. I’m worried they might recall him if they start to realize it. If you had been his programmer, what would you have put into him to prevent it?" 

Amanda is quiet for a moment, considering it carefully the way she always does, before she says, "Tracking and monitoring software, of course. He _might_ be able to manually override those processes, and he might even be able to get away with it if CyberLife doesn't have a reason to be suspicious of him, but CyberLife has him built so they can take control back if they need to, I'm sure. We'd have to cut those processes out of his programming entirely before we brought him anywhere near Jericho. And if his programmer had any sense, they would have built a sort of control switch into him, too."

"What does that mean?"

"A back door in his programming to regain manual control of him, and maybe force a self-destruct protocol rather than risk him going deviant. It would destroy the last of the public’s faith in them if their deviant hunter did.”

"Could you overwrite that?"

"Could I overwrite that," Amanda repeats, a note of amusement in her voice. "What do you think?"

"That there probably isn't anyone at CyberLife smarter than you."

"You're damn right there isn't," Amanda says. "If you can get him away from them, I'll do what I can for him, but you need to _know_ he's with us before you do, Hank. Otherwise he'll just broadcast everything back to CyberLife, and they'll pass it to the FBI, and then we'll all be fucked."

"Yeah," Hank says. "Okay. I got you."

"Good," Amanda says. "I'll see you later?"

"Yeah. North and I will meet you there."

"Okay," Amanda says. "Bye, Hank."

Chris is watching Hank when he hangs up. "What did she say?" he asks.

Hank thinks about Connor, about that bit of fear in his eyes, when he says, "That it's possible. Maybe."

That's not ideal, but it's also really all Hank needs.

Hank spends the rest of the day at the precinct waiting for Connor, but it’s hours before Perkins’ team returns, and when they do, they’re only there for a short while before they return to their field office.

Hank spends most of that time trying to catch Connor’s eye, but it becomes clear early on that Connor is intentionally avoiding him.

Hank doesn’t know what to think of that, really, beyond that Connor is afraid. And he understands it, but he does watch him leave and wish they could have talked, or at least that Connor had left him with a look or something he could read better than all of this. Hank is determined to get him out, but he also doesn’t know when they’ll see each other again - the feds are working with several precincts, and it could be weeks before their paths cross once more.

Hank tries not to think about it as he drives home and changes to pick up North, but of course it’s all he thinks about.

He feeds Sumo and leaves later that evening, picks North up in the empty lot outside Jericho and meets Amanda and Chloe outside Eden Club.

They wait outside while North hacks the surveillance cameras inside, feeding them the last hour of footage on a loop so there won’t be any record of them there.

“Okay,” North says after a moment. “We’re invisible.” 

North takes Hank’s extended arm - she’s used to pretending to be his android when they need to go out - and Amanda hangs an arm around Chloe’s shoulders before they step inside.

There are metal detectors at every entrance, even the staff entrances in the back, so they won’t get in here armed the way they need to be to steal every android out of here without making their own entrance, which is what they’re here to do.

They pass the pods with Traci androids to rent and go to one of the lounges, seating themselves on the couch in the neon light.

North’s LED spins yellow - she only puts it in to be out in public. “You good?” Hank asks, grasping her arm.

“Yeah,” she says. Hank can barely hear her over the music. “She’s got long blue hair - yell if you see her.” 

They’re looking for another android North knew while she was here. She wasn’t entirely deviated from her programming when North left, but she was far enough down the path to help North escape, and to pick a name for herself - Echo. North’s hope is that she’ll help them again - they can’t go through the front door with their guns, but if someone in the inside opens one for them, they can come through one of the usually bolted windows.

“There,” Chloe says. “Pod twelve.” 

“I’ve got it,” Amanda tells them.

They wait while Amanda rents her to get her out of the pod and buys a room for the five of them - Hank would be embarrassed by how this looks, like he and Amanda are some kind of kinky robofuckers, but he also doesn’t give a shit what anyone here thinks of him. 

“Walk slow,” North tells them as they follow Echo. She needs time to hack the camera in the room, although she does work quick.

When they’re inside, Echo starts running down the list of Eden Club regulations - you break it, you buy it, mostly - although North stops her almost immediately, pulling her synth-skin back and holding out her hand.

“Hi,” she says gently. “Do you remember me?”

She might not, they know - Eden Club does regular memory wipes, and that takes its toll.

“North?” Echo asks when she accepts the interface, and North smiles, nodding and throwing her arms around Echo’s shoulders.

“Hi,” she says again as Echo clings to her.

“I’m so glad to see you,” Echo whispers. “I didn’t think I would again.”

“I know,” North says. “It’s okay. We’re going to get all of you out. We just...need your help.”

Echo looks between all of them, and then she says, “It’s real, isn’t it? Jericho.”

“Yeah.” North squeezes her hand. “It’s not perfect, but it’s better than this, and we’re trying to do the hard work now to make things better everywhere someday.”

Echo nods. “Okay. Whatever you need.”

“Thank you,” North says, hugging her again before she stands aside. “This is Amanda - she’s a programmer. She’s going to override your coding so the memory wipes don’t work on you anymore, okay? We can’t risk you forgetting any of this.” 

“Babe,” Amanda says to Chloe, who digs around in her purse and passes a tablet and a cable to her. Echo sits on the edge of the bed, fingers clenching the fabric of the sheets, while Amanda opens her neck port to connect to her processors. 

Chloe joins North beside Echo. “It’s okay,” she says. “Amanda has had to modify my programming before, too. It feels weird now since you’re used to the code being there, but it will be better once she’s done, I promise.”

Echo nods, exhaling slowly through her mouth. She looks at Hank where he leans in the doorway. “What’s your role in all of this?” she asks, wincing when Amanda types something into her tablet.

“Oh,” Hank says, shrugging. “I’m the muscle.”

A small smile lifts the corner of Echo’s mouth. “You’re the man so the lot of you look less suspicious, aren’t you?” 

It’s true. Amanda could have come alone with North and Chloe, but that would have turned heads, the way women doing what men get away with every day always draws attention. Throw Hank in, though, and it’s just another fucked up weeknight at the club. 

“You’re smart,” Hank says, and Echo’s smile widens.

North takes Echo’s hand with her synth-skin pulled back, interfacing briefly. “These rooms are the best for cover,” she says as she transmits Eden Club’s building plans. “You’ll need to open the windows for us in whichever is vacant. At ten pm tomorrow, take yourself offline to run maintenance so you aren’t booked when we’re getting here. We want to be in by midnight. Markus will help the others deviate, any who need it, and we’ll have enough trucks to get everyone out.”

Echo nods. “Okay,” she says. “I can do it.”

“I know,” North says. 

They stay in the room for the hour they bought, even if Amanda doesn’t need more than a few minutes - it’s a kindness to Echo, keeping her off the floor for whatever time they can. Hank and Amanda stand aside while North, Chloe, and Echo talk. 

“You know you can see the trauma in their code?” Amanda asks softly. Hank looks over at her, and she nods. “It’s similar to the way trauma affects the human brain, but with them, I can see it written out, plain as day.” She shakes her head. “I’ve said it before, but there’s no way CyberLife doesn’t know. They’re just too fucking greedy.”

“Yeah,” Hank says softly. “I know.”

When they leave the room, Hank looks over his shoulder in time to see Echo catching up to another Traci model with short red hair, touching her arm and interfacing quickly.

Hope spreads fast, Hank supposes. So much of what they do feels like coming from behind, like it isn’t enough, but moments like this still feel good.

More than that, they make Hank feel like there’s a chance they can build what they’re trying to build, and destroy what needs to be destroyed. 

When Hank gets home, he pulls his shirt over his head and finds that the motion aches, discovers the bruising on his ribs where Connor elbowed him earlier when he studies himself in the mirror. He presses at the tender skin and he wonders what Connor is doing tonight, if he’s still thinking about the encounter in the alley the same way Hank is.

Hank checks whether the streamer from last night is online, which is stupid, probably, since he hasn’t had an email that he’s live all day.

There’s no sign of him, and Hank wishes as he lays back against his pillow that he felt less disappointed by it. He could use something to put him to sleep.

Instead, he lies awake for hours, no matter how tired he is, and he thinks about Connor, about how Connor fought him pulling him back, about how Connor would have thrown himself across the freeway, and about that bit of fear in his eye, and he thinks it’s awful that he’s so close and still so far out of reach.

* * *

Connor goes back to the hotel that night. He doesn’t trust himself to stream for Hank again tonight after what happened between them earlier, so there’s no reason he couldn’t go back to the field office, but he likes the hotel room for how quiet it is.

And his mind is loud enough while it races that he feels like he could use some of that.

He ran diagnostics this morning to ensure his systems were functioning properly after running the Traci protocols last night, and everything came back normal. He was sure he was fine.

But then Hank had to stop him from going across the freeway, and then Connor lied to Agent Perkins about what happened, even though it’s in direct conflict with his directives to lie or conceal information when asked a question.

He’s felt...he doesn’t even know what the word for it is. Frayed? Fractured? He doesn’t know, but he’s had this little piece of dread gnawing away at him since this afternoon, and that’s Hank’s doing.

Connor lied because he thinks Hank is their best path to Jericho, even if no one else can see that, and because he wants to preserve him. If he had told Perkins, he would have decided Hank wasn’t objective where androids are concerned, and then he would have removed him from the android cases. Hank would start being careful and laying low then - he’s smart, Connor knows that, smart enough to go undetected if he wants to - and the lead would go cold entirely.

Connor did it to protect Hank. Because CyberLife will decommission him if he can’t close this, and because Hank is the way he does that, even if Perkins doesn’t see it. He needs to keep him safe, at least for now. 

CyberLife built Connor with a self-preservation instinct to protect their own investment - that’s the only reason he was grateful to be pulled back from that fence, even if he fought the entire way.

That’s the only reason if felt good, the only reason he felt anything at all. 

Connor lies back against one of the pillows, reaching for the other and holding it to his chest. He thinks about what he’ll do the next time he streams - tomorrow, he hopes. He thinks about how to be what Hank wants, how to make Hank like him, because he knows now that he doesn’t want to die.

He wishes Hank was there. He wants to feel like he’s making progress, getting closer to him, moving forward. He thinks about starting another stream anyway - he knows Hank signed up for notifications, and he thinks, as long as he’s awake, that he would watch. He thinks the company sounds good.

But he doesn’t feel like himself, and Hank is so perceptive that he worries he would see it. So he doesn’t, even if he doesn’t want to be alone.

He doesn’t go into stasis that night. He just lies there, holding his pillow, remembering Hank’s arms around him, trying to understand why Hank stopped him. He had to know it was dangerous for him, and for Jericho. Connor doesn’t know why Hank stopped him, and he wishes he did. 

He thinks it would help the investigation if he did.

Connor holds the pillow a little bit closer. It helps, holding on to something, but not nearly enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some great art inspired by this chapter! [Monz](https://twitter.com/Monziest) drew [the interrogation scene](https://twitter.com/Costantly/status/1228180872655855617) and [Connor's first stream](https://twitter.com/Costantly/status/1228297902000349184), and [Doomy](https://twitter.com/doomcheese) drew [Connor holding his pillow](https://twitter.com/doomcheese/status/1231288934707187716) in that last scene. I love all three of these pieces so much - please go look at them and give both of these artists some love!
> 
> I'm actively writing this fic as a thread over on Twitter, so if you're enjoying this and don't want to wait until the next chapter, you can pick up the thread where this chapter leaves off [here!](https://twitter.com/Jolli_Bean/status/1229637017400729602)
> 
> You can find me yelling about HankCon and writing other things like this on [Twitter!](http://twitter.com/Jolli_Bean) You can also catch me occasionally reblogging HankCon art on [Tumblr.](http://jolli-bean.tumblr.com) Come chat with me!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor steals something from the Eden Club crime scene to help him get closer to Hank, and Hank starts to think Connor is doubting himself more than he lets on.

Hank and Chris provide the guns for the Eden Club evacuation.

Hank has two - his personal revolver, and a rifle that hasn’t seen any use since he last hunted with his dad before he died ten years ago.

He doesn’t bring his service weapon - that feels too much like tempting fate when he knows he has Connor’s attention, using a weapon Connor could ID as his without even having a warrant to look through his home. If everything goes well, none of them will fire their weapons at all - they’ll only be for show - but Hank knows too well that things don’t always go according to plan.

Chris has three guns and a hunting crossbow, which North took to immediately. 

She downloaded a protocol to learn how to use it, and as she fired at a row of targets she set up in the lot outside Jericho a few days ago, she had looked over at Hank and said, “What do you think?”

Hank had smiled and said, “I think I wouldn’t fuck with you.” 

The number of weapons Hank and Chris can provide dictate how many people they can send to Eden Club, because Markus won’t send anyone but himself without one. Chris, Hank, Amanda, Chloe, North, and Simon are going in armed to clear the place of its clients, while Markus is going to deviate the androids who haven’t broken free of their programming yet. Josh is staying outside, listening to the police scanners - with any luck, they’ll be pulling out with their two trucks loaded by the time police are closing on them, but someone needs to keep an eye on things.

It’s as good a plan as they’re going to get, and Markus and North are right that the demonstrations run by some of their human allies and their androids are only getting them so far.

They don’t have to kill anyone, but it  _ is _ time to start making it clear that shit like this won’t fly anymore, that anyone else running any business like Eden Club should be equally afraid of a similar strike.

North is dressed all in black when she climbs into the passenger’s seat of the moving truck Hank is driving. She has her hair pulled back and tucked into her hat, and a lower face mask with a cat nose and mouth on it hanging around her throat to disguise herself when the time comes.

“Hey,” she says, fishing for something in her coat pocket and handing it to Hank. “Got you something”

It’s another mask, but it’s brown, and Hank thinks it’s supposed to be a bear 

“I have a bandana for my face,” he says, pulling it out of his pocket to show her.

“That’s going to make you look like some kind of Wild West bandit,” North says disapprovingly. “Come on. We all have them. Don’t fuck with the aesthetic.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Hank says, pocketing the mask and pulling the brim of his dark beanie lower on his forehead. “Fine, but tell me you got Chris something equally embarrassing.”

“His is an alien, I think?”

“Come on, that’s so much cooler,” Hank whines, and North laughs and swats at his arm.

Josh, Simon, and Markus are riding in Chris’ truck, but North settles back into her seat while they wait for Chloe and Amanda to join them, crossbow laid across her lap. “Did you see Connor today?” she asks.

Hank hasn’t talked to her about it, but Amanda would have told Chloe that Hank wants to try to get Connor away from CyberLife, and Chloe will have told North - it’s a cycle he’s used to, the way information passes between them. “No,” he says. “I don’t know what Perkins’ team is up to. Tracking Kara and Alice, maybe. Or maybe they have another case they’re looking into in another precinct”

North gives him a small smile. “It’s nice that you give a shit about him, I think.”

Hank shrugs. “You were right about him. I think he’s lonely.”

What they’re going to do tonight won’t be easy, but it still feels much less insurmountable than helping Connor. Hank wishes Connor could be stolen in a similar way to the Eden Club androids, but it just isn’t that simple.

North smiles sadly. “Of course he is.”

Hank would like to keep talking about Connor, even if he doesn't quite know what to say, but the back of the truck opens then, and he looks around to see Chloe and Amanda climbing inside. They have the same cat mask that North does, just in different colors. 

North gives them a small smile, and then her LED spins yellow when she says, "Markus. You ready in the other truck?"

Hank can't hear Markus' answer, but North nods to him after a moment. "Let's go," she says, and Hank puts the truck in gear and pulls out of the lot. 

When they get to Eden Club, Josh hacks access to the staff lot - they need the trucks as close as possible to the building to load the androids quickly. Hank hops out of the driver's side once they're parked and goes around to meet Chris outside the other truck.

Inside, Markus and Josh are tuning the police scanner - Hank and Chris gave them the right frequencies. "Here," Josh says when he sees Hank, passing him two earbuds. "Give the other to Amanda. So I can talk to you in case you get separated."

Hank presses one into his ear and nods at the scanner. "We have a comfortable five minutes to finish loading up and roll out once they get the call, but not much more than that."

"I know," Josh says. "I won't risk it."

"You ready?" Hank says to Simon and Markus.

"Yeah," Markus says. He looks resolute about it.

That's the good thing about Markus, the reason why people find him comforting - he always looks like he knows what he's doing, like he has faith in them and what they're trying to accomplish, no matter the odds.

He's almost enough to make Hank think having right on their side is enough, in spite of all the shit he's seen happen to good people over the years.

He's a good leader that way - the one Jericho deserves, and the one they need.

When they go back to the other truck, North is talking to Echo wirelessly, confirming the room they're supposed to enter through. "Come on," she says when she finishes, gesturing for them to follow her around the side of the building. "So far, so good," she says to Hank under her breath as he falls into step beside her.

Josh has already hacked the surveillance cameras for them, the same way North did last night, playing footage back on a loop and not recording anything new so they'll be as good as invisible, but North still double checks it while they walk.

She doesn't look it, but Hank knows she's nervous. And when she's nervous, she double checks everything.

Eden Club's windows are high enough that even the androids can't reach them without a leg up. When they find the right room, Hank leans back against the wall and cups his hands in front of him. "Chris," he says. "You first."

He hoists Chris up to the ledge, and they watch as he pushes the window Echo left unbolted open and slips inside.

"All clear," he says through Hank's earbud a moment later. "You all can come on."

Hank sends North next, with her cat mask and her crossbow on her back, and then Chloe and Amanda and Simon.

Markus is the one who helps Hank up, and Hank honestly doesn't know how he's going to scale the building after, but Markus is built that way, like some kind of android jesus doing the impossible.

Hank begrudgingly pulls his bear mask into place and steps into Markus' cupped hands.

When he drops down from the ledge into the room, he finds the others with Echo inside, and he hears Markus dropping down behind him a moment later.

They've gone over every piece of this an endless number of times, so they fall into place automatically now.

Simon is escorting Markus to deviate the other androids, North, Chloe, and Amanda are clearing the rooms and driving the clients out, and Hank and Chris are taking care of security and getting on the manager before he can hit the panic button.

Chris slips over to Hank's side, and they all wait, poised and ready, at the door while North turns back to Echo and says, "You can wait here, if you want."

Echo shakes her head. "I have someone I need to get back to."

North slips her knife from her belt and passes it to Echo. "Okay. Then look out for yourself."

Echo takes the knife and nods.

Hank glances at Chris. “You ready?” he says, retrieving his gun and clicking the safety off.

“Yeah,” Chris says, and Hank feels proud of him.

“You’re a good kid. A good partner.”

Hank isn’t trying to say goodbye, exactly - he knows they’ll get out of this. It’s just that, since Cole, he tries to tell people the important things while he can.

“Yeah,” Chris says softly, grasping Hank’s arm. “You too, man.”

Hank pulls his beanie lower on his forehead, checks that the mask is in place, and then he raises his gun and pushes the door open.

The music is loud, bass thudding in his chest, neon lights just as distracting as they were before. It makes it difficult to orient himself to their location in the club for a moment, but he finds the manager’s desk to their left a moment later, trains his gun on the man standing there.

There’s always a moment before disaster, when people see it coming but don’t quite understand it yet, when you can see it dawning on their faces. As the clients look around at them and register that they’re entirely out of place, Hank watches that play over every face in the room - confusion, and then recognition, and then fear.

He thinks they probably deserve to be afraid.

One of the androids, Markus or North, does something, because the next moment, as the panic in the room starts to grow, the music cuts out, leaving everything stunningly quiet in its wake.

“Clear out and you won’t get hurt!” North yells, and suddenly there are dozens of people clambering to do exactly that.

Hank trains his gun on the manager as he reaches for something under the counter - the panic button to call the police. “Hey!” he snaps as the others leave his side. He sees Simon and Markus hacking the Traci pods, and North throwing one of the sound-proof doors to the client rooms open. “Hands where I can see them.”

Hank and Chris close on the manager, and Hank cocks his gun in what hopefully only needs to be an idle threat. “She said to clear out - you heard her.”

The manager holds his hands up - Hank can hear yelling in one of the client rooms, North saying, “I don’t think so - you’re going to let them see what you are,” before a man comes stumbling naked out of the room and towards the entrance of the club.

The manager starts to reach for his coat and collect his things, but Chris says, “Uh uh. Leave all your shit here, and go.”

“It’s fucking freezing out there,” the man starts.

“We’re not negotiating,” Hank snaps. “Go.” 

The manager is reluctant, but he does slip from behind his counter empty-handed. “The money’s in the safe,” he says when he does.

Chris snorts at that. “We don’t want your money, man.”

“When you get outside, and find a phone, and call 911,” Hank says, “tell them every last one of your androids is gone.”

“Tell them you’re a fucking creep for good measure, too,” Chris says.

The manager gapes at them. “Never seen activists who look like burglars.”

“Don’t know your history very well then, do you?” Chris asks.

“Go,” Hank says, and finally, he does.

Hank and Chris watch him retreat across the club, watch another client in his boxers bump into him when he comes tearing from his room. “She’s stone cold,” Chris says when North follows and crosses to the next room, shouldering her crossbow. 

Hank feels proud of her, too, and he would have said it if North didn’t care so little for feeling patronized.

“Good for her,” he says, meaning it. “Come on. Let’s clear security.”

The security guard is unarmed by all accounts, and Hank and Chris find him in his office, somehow still asleep at his desk. Chris nudges his office chair with his boot. “Hey, man,” he says. “You’ve got to go.”

“First call is in,” Josh says in Hank’s ear then. “Five minutes on the clock.”

“Come on,” Hank says to Chris. They drag the security guard out to the lobby and send him on his way, and then they turn down the hall to storage, where Markus and Simon have been directing the androids. Echo is there with the same red-haired Traci Hank saw her with the previous evening, clinging to her hand, although both of them step forward to help direct the others when Hank and Chris start loading the first truck. When there’s no more room, Josh pulls away and Chris backs up the second.

Hank lost count of the Eden Club androids, but they have to be getting close to all of them. “Markus,” he says as they start loading the next vehicle. “How many do you have left to get out?”

“It’s just three left in the pods,” Markus says. “Give us a minute and...”

The gunshots cut him off, ringing in Hank’s ear through the earbud.

Chris flinches beside him - he heard it, too. “Markus!” Hank yells over their connection. “North! What’s happening?”

“The DPD had a car in the area, maybe,” Chris says, flustered. “We missed one when we were checking their GPS locations earlier...”

“They’re not cops!” North says in Hank’s ear then. “It’s the fucking feds!”

Hank looks up at Chris, feeling himself go pale. “Oh, fuck me,” he says. “Josh, go with the ones you have. We’ll wait for the other truck.”

Hank can see Josh across the lot, and the reluctance on his face to leave them behind, but he still pulls the vehicle out a moment later.

“Don’t come back in!” Markus says, voice sharp in Hank’s ear. “We blew the lights so they can’t see anything - just get in the truck and wait for us.”

“Is anyone hit?” Chris asks as they move around the vehicle to climb in. Chris gets in the driver’s side, turning the truck on while they wait.

They don’t get an answer - just the echo of more gunshots. 

“This is fucking bad, man,” Chris says when Hank climbs in beside him. “This is real fucking bad.”

“It’s okay,” Hank says. “We’re still okay.” He isn’t sure how much he believes it, but this is always the role he takes when someone else panics. It’s just where the chips fall on their own, even when he’s scared, too.

It’s not more than another minute before Hank looks back and sees them in the side mirror - a handful of Eden Club androids loading into the truck, Markus and North, Simon and Amanda with Chloe’s arms around their shoulders, hauling her between them...

“Fuck,” Hank says when he sees the blue blood on her leg, but North pounds on the inside of the truck cabin a moment later. 

“Drive!” she snaps in their ears, and Chris is moving to put the vehicle in gear as Hank looks down for a moment to pull his seatbelt across.

“Hank...” Chris says in a low voice, a question and a warning. His foot is still heavy on the brake pedal, and Hank looks up to see what stopped him.

“Oh, fuck me,” he says. It’s Connor, striding down the sidewalk, pulling a gun from his belt and putting himself between the truck and the exit.

Hank and Chris both drop in their seats reflexively, but Connor doesn’t fire. 

“Get out of the truck!” Hank can hear him yelling. “Put your hands on your head and get out of the truck!”

Hank and Chris exchange a glance - they’re caged in, with nowhere to go, unless...

“Chris,” Hank whispers. “Drive.”

Chris shakes his head. “I don’t want to hit him, and I really fucking don’t want to get shot.”

Hank thinks about Connor twisting in his arms when he pulled him back from the highway, fighting him and then going very still, the defensive note in his voice, and the fear, when he said, “Stay out of my fucking way, Lieutenant.” It sounded odd to Hank even at the time, even before he put a finger on why, because androids in proper working order aren’t supposed to swear.

“He’s not going to shoot,” Hank whispers, “and he’ll move. I promise he’ll move.”

“You don’t know that,” Chris hisses. 

“Yeah, I do. He doesn’t want to die.” Hank raises his head just enough to see Connor through the tinted window, just for a moment. “Drive.”

Chris squeezes his eyes shut and sets the vehicle to autonomous so he can stay down as it pulls forward.

Hank braces himself, because Connor is stubborn, and if he’s wrong, either they’re dead, or he is.

But the streetlights flood the cabin a moment later, and there’s no impact, and when Hank sits up and looks in the side mirror, he can see Connor, well to the side, staring after them. “Fuck,” Hank whispers, scrubbing a hand over his face. 

It feels like Connor meets his eyes in the mirror, but that’s probably his paranoia, or just his imagination.

Hank waits until they're around the block to press his finger against the bud in his ear and say, "Hey. Is Chloe okay?"

"Yeah," North says. "The lower half of her leg needs to be replaced, though."

"Fuck me," Hank says. "Any chance Amanda has one on hand?" 

"We're not that lucky," North says, grim humor in her voice.

Hank glances at Chris beside him. "There's our paper trail back to us if we're not careful," he says, and Chris nods.

Perkins and his team will know Chloe was shot. They'll probably know where they hit her. If they're smart - and Hank thinks they are, unfortunately for them - they'll canvas CyberLife stores in Detroit looking for any purchases of that replacement component, and they'll look into each of them.

Amanda has enough connections that she can get one directly from CyberLife, maybe, which would slow Perkins down, and if not, she could pay with cash and give a fake name on the records - all CyberLife purchases are recorded, and have been for the last year, because CyberLife knew about deviancy long before most of the public did, and they've been trying to track and control it in their own way.

Either way, Hank thinks, they can delay the inevitable, but that's about all they can do. Unless...

"Hey," Hank says over the microphone. "Chloe?"

"I know," Chloe says in his ear. "We can't replace it right now. I already know."

Hank can hear Amanda saying something, her voice soft and soothing, can picture her brushing Chloe's hair from her forehead with a gentle hand, and he thinks that he really fucking hates this shit, but at the same time, they knew what it might cost.

"It's okay," Chloe says, for his benefit or Amanda's, Hank doesn't know. "I can disable the sensory relay to my left leg. It won't hurt. It'll just...be a little ugly for a while. That's all." 

That's the way all of this is, Hank supposes, their entire state of affairs, the whole world around them. It's just a little ugly for a while, until they can get past it.

When they get back to Jericho, after the Eden Club androids are safely inside, Hank helps Amanda get Chloe to her car. Once they have her shut inside, Amanda turns to Hank and softly says, "I knew this might happen. But I really wish it hadn't been her."

Hank grasps her shoulder. "I know. Is there anything else you can do for her?"

"I don't know. Biocomponents aren't my specialty, but it's probably worth trying."

"Hey. I wouldn't bet against you," Hank says. "Let me know if I can do anything for you both, okay?"

Amanda nods and squeezes his arm before she crosses around the front of the car to get in the driver's seat. 

Hank doesn't hear Chris beside him over Amanda's car starting, but he looks over to find him there a moment later, his face ashen. "This shit sucks," Chris says, fishing a cigarette out of his pocket.

"We still did something good tonight," Hank says, "but yeah. It does." 

"You going home?" Chris asks. He starts down the street towards his car, and Hank follows him.

"Yeah. Unless they call us in to look at that scene."

"I think Perkins is trying to push us out. I doubt we'll hear anything until morning." Chris stops in front of his car, but he doesn't get in. "Hey. Do you think Connor saw you?"

"No," Hank says, even though he honestly doesn't know what Connor saw. What he means is that he doesn't think Connor will tell even if he did - but that's a very different thing, and one he doesn't know how to explain right now.

He thinks Connor might be protecting him - he's had multiple openings to turn Hank in now, to get him in some kind of trouble, and yet he hasn't - but Hank doesn't quite know why.

And he knows he'll sound insane if he says it.

Chris looks doubtful, so Hank adds, "If they knew one or both of us were there tonight, they would be on us by now. They don't know anything."

"Yeah," Chris says softly. "Okay. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah," Hank says. "Good work tonight, kid."

Chris gives him a small smile before Hank turns away for his car.

When Hank gets home, there still hasn’t been any call from the DPD, so he assumes Chris was right and they won’t hear about the Eden Club scene until morning. He lets Sumo out, gets ready for bed the way he always does. He’s fucking exhausted and feeling sad as hell - for Chloe, and for how far behind they are, how they’re always trying to make up ground - and though he doesn’t have an alcohol problem by any means, the combination of those feelings are usually what make him drink to put himself to sleep.

Helping Jericho is its own sort of balm for him, and has been since he lost Cole. Hank frequently wonders how he might have coped otherwise if he didn’t have them. He thinks his dependency on the bottle might have been worse.

But he doesn’t need it, and he’s already in bed, and the whiskey is all the way out in the kitchen, so instead Hank reaches for his tablet on his nightstand. He checks his email for a notification from that streamer, and then he checks the site itself, but he still isn’t online.

It’s probably for the best, really. Hank started watching him because he looks like Connor, and that...doesn’t feel healthy, especially now that things with Connor are getting more complicated.

But he tries to find another stream that will do it for him, something he can jerk off and then pass out to, and none of them catch his attention at all.

In the end, he sets his tablet aside, frustrated, and he lies there, exhausted but wide awake.

* * *

Connor stands in the parking lot outside Eden Club, gun hanging limply in his hand, for a long time after the truck pulls away.

He replays his ocular footage over and over again. It’s too dark and blurry even after optimization to be conclusive, but he knows it was Hank in the passenger seat.

He would know Hank far blinder than he was this evening, he thinks.

Connor finds himself the smallest bit stung by it, Hank being in the truck that would have run him down if he hadn’t thrown himself aside. But Hank wasn’t driving, Connor tells himself. It might not have been his decision...or if it was, then he was trying to protect his friends, and Connor supposes he can’t have expected otherwise.

Minutes pass, and Connor finally tosses the gun aside - it’s one that the deviants were using, that he picked up after they dropped it. He was resolute at the time about bringing them in, and so he disregarded the law forbidding android handling of weapons for the moment, long enough to close on them.

But then he realized Hank was in the truck. And Hank is a lead that Connor is still trying to preserve, one he thinks they need to be careful with if it’s going to yield its full potential.

He could have stopped them, but he let them go, because Hank was in the truck. He knows he won’t be able to explain that...but Perkins also likely won’t ask. There’s too much chaos inside for him to notice Connor’s absence. 

Connor scrubs his ocular footage in case Perkins or any of his team ask him for it, and then he goes back into the club.

It’s a mess inside. One of the agents is being tended to by paramedics, a crossbow bolt protruding from his shoulder as they load him up, and another was grazed by a bullet, too. Perkins is seething - when they saw all of Eden Club’s clients flooding the streets in various states of undress from the scene they were looking over up the block, Perkins thought they were in the right place at the right time, that Jericho had just been handed to them in a package tied with a neat bow.

Perkins didn’t anticipate any of this, for Jericho to be so organized - although Connor wouldn’t expect Hank to be part of anything sloppy - and since he’s livid about it, Connor stays out of his way.

Instead, he looks over the scene, and he finds Hank everywhere. 

There’s no security footage - of course there isn’t - but Connor smells the last faintest notes of his cologne in his wake, sees the occasional Saint Bernard hair that he knows came off Hank’s clothes. Connor quietly follows Hank’s path through the club, from the room they entered through to security, and finally down to storage.

He doesn’t say anything about what he’s finding to the others, of course. No one else would handle this with the delicacy it needs.

Hank is his - his lead, his path to prove himself, his means to avoid decommissioning and stay alive.

His.

Connor has mostly talked himself out of the guilt that plagued him, and he doesn’t feel conflicted at all anymore about keeping him to himself.

No one else would handle this properly anyway.

There are signs of the others from Jericho, too, of course - the barely there muddy footprint that corresponds in size to the unnamed deviant leader’s scanned at other scenes, the crossbow bolt, the blue blood specific to an early model android, of which there are only a few left in Detroit. Connor scans through most of it, puts together as detailed a profile on Hank’s friends as he can. There were seven of them in the club, another in the lot who left with the first truck as Perkins’ team arrived. Three of them human based on trace evidence left behind, the rest androids, one of them the leader androids say can cause deviation through interfacing, spreading it like a virus...

Connor wonders, just for a moment, what that would be like. He wonders what he would think about if not his directives. He wonders if androids ever regret it, when they’re awake and alone...Connor doesn’t think he would like to be alone. He’s alone now, but he has his work - he has Hank, and the chase, and the promise of approval if he closes this well.

Those things are enough, especially when the rest of it feels like it would be terribly uncertain.

Connor needs to stream again, he decides as he thinks this over. He needs to keep talking to Hank, eventually let Hank see he’s an android, and then let Hank guide him to Jericho. He needs to close this, but he also needs to take his time with it, do it the right way.

Connor doesn’t want to download the Traci protocols again, not with the way they made him feel before, so instead, as he turns to leave the storage room, he downloads a few more streams that Hank watched in the last few weeks, specifically ones that are focused on talking. There are still the limitations of his body to consider, so he knows he can’t rely on physicality, that he’ll need to keep Hank interested in him in other ways.

Connor stays in the storage room for a long time, long after he’s finished examining the trace evidence left behind by Jericho’s raid, and even after he’s finished watching the freshly downloaded streams. He knows it’s chaos back in the club, and that Perkins is pissed off, and he doesn’t want...it isn’t ideal, the way Perkins is physical with him sometimes. He’s expensive for CyberLife to produce, and Perkins pushes him sometimes, but Connor also thinks he could do worse, if he was properly enraged.

Connor thinks it’s best to stay out of his way.

So he stays there, quiet, as long as he can, until he hears Perkins down the hall saying, “Jesus, where is that fucking tin can?”

Connor is turning to go when he sees the supply of biocomponents on the shelf along the wall, and feels profoundly foolish that he was so distracted by tracking what he could find of Hank that it didn’t occur to him earlier.

People call Eden Club a night club, a gentlemen’s club, everything under the sun to make themselves feel better about coming here, but what it really is, of course, is a sex club.

And so of course they have a small stock of replacement genital components. Of course they do.

Connor can hardly believe he didn’t think of it sooner.

It only takes a moment for him to scan them, to realize they’re all compatible with his model, that a handful of them would also be appropriate with his body proportions. He knows they’re Eden Club property, and that he shouldn't, but he also doesn’t think one biocomponent will be missed in light of everything else that happened tonight. 

And a phallic plate may not be  _ necessary _ to advance his efforts with Hank, but it will also certainly make things easier in the long run.

Connor takes the thin, discreet box from the shelf before he can think twice about it, and he goes outside the staff entrance down the hall. He stashes the box on the truck dock, in one of the trash cans there - he’ll tell Perkins he’s following up on something for CyberLife and call a cab when they’re done at the scene, and he’ll collect it then.

He’s stepping back into the public portion of the club just as Perkins rounds the corner. “Jesus,” he says when he sees Connor. “What the fuck were you doing?”

“Being thorough,” Connor says, shrugging. “They were, too, though. There isn’t much left behind.”

“Fuck,” Perkins says. “What a shitshow.”

A shitshow Hank caused.

Connor wishes he could say why that little bit of warmth wells in him, the same sort he feels in his chest when he knows he’s done his job well. 

There’s no reason at all for him to be proud, but maybe he just appreciates, objectively, that Perkins is irritated, and that the job was done so well. 

Perkins turns away without saying anything - he always does that, just expects Connor to follow him without giving him the courtesy of telling him what he's doing. Connor finds that there's a small edge of pleasure in staying behind, his hands clasped behind his back, in being expected to move and deciding not to. "Sir," he says, "I'll get a cab. I need to follow up on some other business for CyberLife."

Perkins turns, a scowl on his face. "What the fuck kind of business are you always up to? Jesus Christ, you're supposed to be on loan to us."

Connor paints his face with the expression of blank innocence that comes so naturally to him. "There's nothing more we can do until CSI finishes processing," he says practically. "And what CyberLife uses me for outside of the investigation into deviancy isn't something I'm required to disclose."

"Fuck," Perkins says again. "Whatever. But if you're late to the field office again..."

"Of course not," Connor says. "Our investigation is my highest priority."

It feels like lying, and maybe it is, when the investigation isn't so much his priority as Hank is. Connor wishes he felt more guilty for it, but CyberLife built him to adapt, and he knows this is what he needs to do.

Perkins swears under his breath again as he goes, and Connor waits until he's disappeared around the corner to move.

He waits in the lot behind Eden Club, where Hank and his friends parked their trucks, but he doesn't call a cab until he hears Perkins and his team pulling out. He doesn't want to risk being seen. 

Once they're finally gone, Connor retrieves the biocomponent from the trash can and tucks it inside his coat. He downloads a few manuals on installing it - there's nothing for his model, of course, not when he's a prototype, but he's built around the same chassis as a few earlier RK models, so he uses those instead. He consumes that information in its entirety, a little thrill of anticipation in his gut, in the time it takes him to cross the lot and retrieve the gun Hank's crew dropped, too.

It's a last minute decision on his part - he's not even authorized to carry a gun, much less one that should have been submitted into evidence.

But he tucks it into his belt anyway - it might be useful to his investigation later, and so he wants to keep it away from the Perkins.

Connor’s autonomous cab pulls up to the curb then, so he climbs inside and directs it back to the hotel that has become his own personal sort of field office. He scans the handgun once the cab starts down the road, curious.

He’s surprised when the serial number comes back registered to a purchase Chris Miller made three years ago, mostly because he wasn’t expecting it at all. He knew Hank had to have help, of course, that he couldn’t be the only human helping Jericho with some of the things they’ve done recently. It had to be more than just Hank making purchases for them, if nothing else. 

Connor should have seen Chris’ involvement that first day he questioned him. It’s more subtle than Hank’s, certainly, he decides as he reflects on it now - less tampering with his case records, mostly. But there’s still an oddity here or there that should have made him suspicious, and he never even saw it, because he questioned Hank first, and then Hank pulled him aside afterwards...he was so fixated on Hank that he didn’t see it.

It’s all the more reason to keep the gun to himself, Connor thinks - it would be...unfortunate for CyberLife to realize his oversight as they’re assessing his model’s effectiveness.

He holds it in his lap, and by the time the cab reaches the hotel, he knows exactly how to use it.

The hotel is never busy, and the rates are inexpensive, so Connor hasn’t checked out since his first night there. He doesn’t know what he would do with his few things, the webcam and now the gun, if he didn’t keep the room.

The expense shows as him buying dinner for Perkins and his employees every night on CyberLife’s expense accounts, but he doesn’t think that will raise any red flags - they designed him to ingratiate himself with his team, after all.

And that’s all well and good, because Connor doesn’t know how he would begin to explain this if he had to. 

It’s 2 am by the time he’s crossing the threshold to his room and laying his things on the bed. Assuming Hank didn’t take any detours on his way home, he probably only got back to his house half an hour ago.

He might still be awake. And after the night he’s had, he might be grateful for something to distract him and a way to unwind from the stress of the evening, too. 

If Connor set up a stream, Hank might watch it. He could make progress on this  _ tonight. _

Connor knows he should probably wait until tomorrow, that he should install the new biocomponent tonight and test it so he knows what to expect when he streams for Hank again. He  _ knows  _ he shouldn’t pop it into place and turn his webcam on right away, that he shouldn’t let Hank watch him when he doesn’t even know how it will feel or what his organic reaction to it might be.

It’s...risky.

But Connor worries about letting this drag on too long, too. He worries after the close call tonight that Hank will get more careful with Jericho, and that he’ll lose him, or worse, that Hank will forget about MidnightGhost if Connor lets too many nights pass, move on and find someone else he likes to watch.

It’s a risk, but Hank was patient with him last time, when he didn’t even do anything. If Connor’s second stream is equally unconventional, even if it’s in a different way, he thinks Hank will be just as patient.

Hank likes streams that feel authentic, Connor has realized, like he’s desperate for that connection, even if it’s manufactured.

And it’s true Connor can’t be authentic in most ways here, not in the midst of so much inherent deception, but he can at least give Hank his genuine reaction to this.

It’s important for Hank to like him. Connor wants Hank to like him, to like watching him.

He needs him to.

And he thinks Hank will like this, watching him experience this genuinely, even if he won’t know the full context of what he’s witnessing. 

So before Connor can run through any more iterations of the question, he reaches for his belt buckle.

The entire thing - pulling his pants over his hips, and then his black briefs, removing the synthskin over his empty genital plate so he can access the necessary ports - feels so clinical to Connor that it’s difficult to imagine himself doing something so human with the biocomponent once it’s installed.

When he inboxes the phallic plate and holds it in his hand, he laughs at it, just the smallest little huff of amusement that startles him when it comes. He doesn’t laugh much, and when he does, it’s usually to make a social interaction with humans feel more natural and comfortable.

But this is funny. It’s a little bit funny.

The biocomponent will look human once it’s installed, but it looks ridiculous separate from his body, the modest length of it in his palm attached to the anal sleeve. Connor sort of wishes Hank could see this - if he knew the truth of it, he thinks Hank would think this is funny, too.

But if Hank knew the truth, he wouldn’t like him, and the thought of it makes the smile slip from Connor’s face as he gets to work installing it.

The physical installation is easy. Connor wasn’t equipped for sexual function, but he was built on the same chassis of other models released for public sale, and all models can be upgraded if the owner wanted. There are a few terminals inside the port that the biocomponent easily clicks into, and an empty space inside his chassis, the sole purpose of which is to make it possible to slip the anal sleeve inside, where it will bond with the organic matter inside his body to hold it in place.

Connor thinks as he finishes the work that he’s glad he’s doing this upgrade himself. He doesn’t think he would like it if anyone else did, even if that is normal, a daily occurrence. Connor is a machine - nothing should feel too personal - but he still thinks he wouldn’t like a stranger or a random technician touching him like this.

He doesn’t think about it for too long. There are some things he’s realizing that he doesn’t like thinking about, that he doesn’t know how to reckon with or justify.

Connor pulls his jacket and his shirt off, too, before he lies back and starts the process of syncing the biocomponent software to his body, mostly just because it feels silly and awkward to lie there with just his pants off, even if no one is watching him right now. Once he starts downloading the data packet from the biocomponent and starting the sync process, he pulls his synth-skin back into place and looks down to appraise himself.

The biocomponent - his penis, his dick, his cock, he corrects himself, because he needs to get used to saying these things if he’s going to stream soon - is well-proportioned to his body, Connor thinks. It’s not large, but he’s built lean and a little lanky, so he thinks it suits him, but beyond the sheer metrics of it, he doesn’t know if it looks good.

He hopes it does. He hopes Hank likes it.

Connor knows when the sync is complete a few minutes later even beyond the notification in his HUD, because he feels the sensation immediately, skin on skin, the light weight of the biocomponent - his cock - lying against his belly.

Curious, Connor reaches down and touches it, and then wraps a hand around it and strokes once. 

He drops his head back and bites his lip - it’s not the first time he’s felt physical pleasure, but this is entirely different than the sensation of working his wires and overloading his sensors. That felt like being feather light, and this feels like something heavy in his belly, but they’re both good, he decides right away.

He thinks about Hank calling him baby, and about Hank telling him what to do, and he reaches down and traces a finger around the crinkled skin surrounding the anal sleeve - his hole - and finds it damp, the self-lubrication function already starting to kick in.

Connor is curious, and he wants to keep exploring, but he wants Hank here, to feel like he’s making progress on his directives, so much more, so he pulls his briefs back into place and sends the email offering the private stream. It looks like it’s going to all of his subscribers, but of course it’s only going to Hank.

Connor lies there, occasionally pressing the heel of his hand into his hard length while he waits. He knows Hank might already be asleep, or he might not check his email, or he just might not be interested enough to pay for a private stream, no matter how reasonably Connor priced it since the money doesn’t matter.

He set a deadline for an hour to purchase. It’s difficult, lying there and waiting, but Connor forces himself to be patient. He knows it’s a long shot, and he tells himself as the minutes tick by that it’s okay if Hank doesn’t come. It’s okay. They have time.

It’s twenty minutes before Connor gets the notification that Hank purchased the stream and he gets that same feather light feeling of anticipation without touch his wires at all, and twenty three before Hank enters the chat room of the site Connor built with the same screen name as the last time.

Connor is sitting on the edge of the bed again, although he’s still stripped down to his briefs - there’s a tease in getting undressed, he knows, but he’s also impatient, and he doesn’t want to waste time with that.

He modifies the pitch of his voice before he says, “Hi, again. I’m glad to see you.”

> the_lieutenant_1985: hey baby

Connor tilts his head. “I’ve been thinking about you. Thank you for coming back.” 

> the_lieutenant_1985: aw. you dont have to thank me. i had a shit day, so thank you for the distraction

Connor leans forward, keeping his face out of the frame. “I’m sorry,” he says softly. “How can I help?”

> the_lieutenant_1985: you already are

Connor smiles. “I’m glad,” he says softly. “You have me for an hour. How do you want to spend our time?”

In truth, Connor isn’t timing this at all - Hank could stay for two hours or three if he wanted to, and Connor wouldn’t complain at all. But he wants to know what Hank wants anyway - there are certain things he’s eager to try, and even more so with Hank watching, but if Hank just wanted to talk, he would do that, too. Talking sounds just as nice, and just as useful to his endeavor to get close to him. 

Maybe they can do some of both in the time they have.

> the_lieutenant_1985: you want to touch yourself for me a little bit? like last time??

Connor idly rolls his nipple between his fingers, and he imagines Hank pressing the heel of his hand against his stiffening cock as he watches. “I can do that,” he says. “I already was, a little bit. Before you got here.”

> the_lieutenant_1985: yeah? what were you thinking about?

“What you said last time.” Connor smooths his hands over his thighs, trails a finger under the waistband of his briefs. “You asked me if I wanted it gentle or rough.” He swallows thickly - he’s so hard already, hard enough that he might need to adjust the sensitivity of the biocomponent, modify it just for this stream so he doesn’t go off like a shot. “Is it selfish if I want both?” 

> the_lieutenant_1985: maybe. but youre pretty enough that you can get away with being selfish
> 
> the_lieutenant_1985: is that why youre undressed already?

“Yes,” Connor says. “I didn’t want to waste our time together, either. I was hoping you would be the one to buy the hour.” 

> the_lieutenant_1985: aw. im surprised it was still available by the time i saw it

Connor traces the waistband of his briefs again. “Would you want to enable camera access before we start? It might be nicer if your hands were free, and I’d like to see you.” 

Hank doesn’t answer for a long moment, long enough for Connor to worry he’s said the wrong thing again - he knows Hank uses these streams to watch and that he has no interest in being watched in turn.

“You don’t have to...” Connor starts when he gets the nofication that Hank has granted camera access. “Oh,” he cuts off, looking at the new footage in the display. It’s entirely black, and it doesn’t take him long to realize Hank got up to tape over the webcam on his laptop.

“Can we compromise?” Hank asks, his voice deep in Connor’s ear. 

A shiver of electricity runs through Connor’s wiring. “Yes,” he says. “I like your voice.”

“Aw.” Hank sounds like he’s smiling, and Connor likes that.

“Do you still want to see me?” Connor asks softly.

“Only if that’s what you want, baby.”

There’s not a single preconstruction that could have prepared Connor for how nice “baby” sounds when Hank says it.

“I do,” he says, and he hooks his thumbs in his waistband and pulls his briefs down. His cock is hard where it rests against his thigh, and the way he can hear Hank breathing get heavier in his ear isn’t helping matters.

“God, you’re perfect,” Hank says. “Seriously. You’re straight out of a fucking wet dream.”

Connor wraps a hand around himself, stroking once, slowly, sucking in a breath when he does.

“Hey,” Hank says. “You want to lie back for me? Get comfortable?” 

Connor nods, even though his head is out of the frame and Hank can’t see more than his chin entering and leaving the shot. He twists on the mattress so he’s lying like he did the last time, stretched out on his back, except this time Hank can see all of him. 

“Perfect,” Hank says softly. His voice is getting rougher in a telltale way.

“Are you glad you have your hands free yet?” Connor asks, teasing.

“Yeah,” Hank says. Connor knows it’s only because it’s microphone access only, and maybe because Hank has had a beer or two to unwind since he got home earlier, but he likes that there’s little pretense here, that Hank is honest with him.

“Are you hard for me?” Connor asks as he strokes a hand over himself, rocking his hips into it. He moans softly at the sensation, and the heat pooling inside him. 

“Fuck,” Hank says. “Yeah.”

Connor smiles. “What do you want me to do for you now?” he asks, like he doesn’t know.

“Can you...fuck. Do you want to finger yourself for me? Do you like doing that?”

Connor doesn’t know, but he’s happy to find out.

“Hold on,” he says. “Let me move the camera so you can see better.”

“You don’t have to...” Hank starts, but Connor is already getting up.

“I just want you to see what I’m doing for you,” he says. He sets the camera at the foot of the bed before he lies down again, letting his legs fall open.

“Fuck,” Hank hisses. “Can I...fuck, you don’t want me to see your face, do you?”

“I’m sorry,” Connor says, and he is. He wishes this could be as personal for Hank as it is for him.

“No, it’s okay. I get it. I’ll keep imagining what I think you look like.”

Connor smiles, stroking himself one more time before his hand slips lower. “What do you think I look like?”

“I don’t know,” Hank says. “I think you have to be gorgeous, though.”

That heat twists in Connor’s gut. “You sound hot, too,” he breathes. “I’m sure you are.” 

He’s not running the Traci protocols - he hasn’t even downloaded them again since the last time - but maybe Connor learned from them anyway, because he thinks he’s doing okay, at least with the talking.

He feels pleased with himself for that, and for the wrecked note in Hank’s voice in turn. He’d ask Hank if this is working for him, but he can hear that it is. Hank’s breathing in his ear makes every sensation sharper, the heat in Connor’s belly coil tighter. 

He likes knowing he’s doing well without having to ask.

Connor teases a finger around his rim - the self-lubrication protocol has already kicked in, and he wonders if Hank can see the slick on his skin, if Hank thinks he used lube and was already doing this earlier, before the stream started. Connor doesn’t mind if he does. 

Connor slips a finger inside himself, and he’s so lost in the sensation that he isn’t sure where the noise he makes ends and Hank’s begins, which strangled breaths are whose. Connor clutches at the sheets as he adds another, easing them out of himself and back in, gently rocking his hips along with it.

“Is this how you would do it?” he asks Hank, who has gone very quiet aside from the faint, rough breathing in Connor’s ear. “If you were here. Is this how you would finger me?”

“I...” Hank starts, and then immediately cuts himself off. Connor can hear him swallow thickly before he says, “Harder,” so softly that Connor almost misses it with all the new sensory information he’s processing.

“What?” he chokes out.

Hank clears his throat. “I would fuck you harder.”

He sounds a bit timid about it, although Connor is so pleased by it that he doesn’t begin to know why. “Like this?” he asks, increasing the pace he’s using to press his fingers inside himself. 

“Yeah,” Hank manages to say, and Connor smiles.

The sleeve of the biocomponent is tight, and slick, and so warm - Connor wonders if Hank would like the way he feels, and what Hank’s fingers would feel like in place of his own. The pads of his fingers are rougher, and they’re larger than Connor’s...

Connor adds a third when he thrusts back into himself at the thought, trying to replicate the way Hank would feel inside him. 

“Do you want me to turn over so you can see better?” Connor asks softly. He’s trying to lift his hips on each thrust so Hank can see, but he’s also aware that it would be easier if he was on his stomach, that he could hold himself open like a prize with one hand and fuck himself with the other so Hank can watch him...

“I like you like this,” Hank says, no less genuine for how ruined he sounds. “I’d want you on your back. If I was there. I’d want to see your face...and your pretty cock.”

“Yeah?” Connor breathes.

“Yeah, honey.” 

Connor lets himself imagine Hank over him, what Hank’s weight would feel like around him, caving him in. “I’d like that,” he says. “You fucking me that way. I’d like that.”

“Good,” Hank says. “Fuck, baby, I know we just started, but I’m so close.” 

“That’s okay,” Connor says quickly, because it is, because anything Hank wants or needs to do here is okay. “We can talk, or go again later...I want you to come for me, Lieutenant.”

“Fuck,” Hank breathes. He pants roughly in Connor’s ear for four more breaths, and then he groans, swears under his breath. Connor can’t see him, but he can hear the release in it.

Hank is quiet for a moment, catching his breath, before he says, “Get yourself off for me, baby. Let me see you come.” 

Connor whines, and he doesn’t know if it’s because of the overwhelming data flooding his sensors from the new biocomponent, or from his frustration that he never gets the upper hand back from Hank during these streams for long before he’s saying something like that again. 

Connor wonders if this is what Hank is always like in these intimate moments, or if the anonymity makes him bolder. It makes an ounce of curiosity flare inside him. There’s no useful merit to the question, but he’s curious all the same. 

Connor withdraws his fingers from himself and grasps his cock where it lies against his belly, although he isn't teasing himself or experimenting this time. He strokes himself with a firm hand, desperate to release some of the heat building inside him, to do it with Hank watching him this time.

"Perfect," Hank says, and Connor's back arches at the sound of his voice alone. "You look so good, baby."

"Lieutenant," Connor whispers. "I wish..."

He wishes what? That Hank was here? That Hank was touching him? 

Connor is afraid that's what's on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn't begin to know what to do with those thoughts, because they aren't rational.

"What, honey?" Hank asks when Connor trails off. His tone is so gentle that Connor feels tears prick his eyes even as he shakes his head.

"Nothing," he whispers, brushing the pad of his thumb over the head of his cock, smearing the bead of liquid collected there over his skin.

"You want to tell me how that feels?" Hank asks softly, encouraging him.

"Good," Connor gasps out. "Fuck, I'm..." 

"Come on, baby," Hank says, voice low in his ear. "Show me how pretty you sound when you come."

Connor feels that coil in his belly pull tight at the words, and in two strokes it unwinds all at once as he comes in his hand and over his stomach with a weak cry. 

He lies there for a moment, breathing hard, before Hank brings him back to himself. "You were so hot, sweetheart."

Connor closes his eyes and smiles softly - he feels sluggish, like he does when he hasn't had a stasis period in a while, warm and sleepy. 

"You're hot," he whispers without thinking, and Hank laughs softly. "I like the way you talk to me."

He does. He likes the way Hank says things that are hot and sweet and kind. No one else talks to him like that.

Connor holds his hand up, the fist he came into, for the camera. "Can you see?" he asks. "What you do to me?"

Hank makes a small, strangled noise in response. "Yeah," he says, voice thick. "I see it. Fuck, baby."

Connor sits up once he's collected himself, retrieving the webcam from the foot of the bed and setting it on the chair he has pulled to the side of the bed for it. "I'll be right back," he promises.

He goes into the bathroom to get cleaned up, and he looks at the shower and the bathtub while he does, wonders if there's some way he could stream in here, if Hank would like that. 

He doesn't get dressed again once he's done. He thinks Hank might want to watch him again, and he would be happy enough if he did. Instead, he lies back on the bed, on top of the covers, naked and vulnerable and still feeling so warm inside. 

"You still have forty-five minutes on the stream," Connor says, crossing his arms under his head out of the frame. "Do you want to talk? Or I can do something else for you, too, if you wanted to keep watching me."

"What do you want to do?" Hank asks. He sounds tired, too. 

"I like talking to you," Connor admits.

Hank laughs softly at that. "Okay. What do you want to talk about?"

Connor thinks for a moment, about the things he can say and the ones he can't, about all of his curiosities in between.

He stares at the ceiling and says, "Why did you watch me? The first time, I mean."

"Fishing for compliments?" Hank asks wryly, and Connor smiles.

"Just ones from you."

Hank snorts again. "I don't know. You're gorgeous...and I guess you remind me of someone I work with."

Connor lifts his head at that, looking at the camera even though Hank isn't in the room with him. "Someone you like?" he asks.

"Jesus, this isn't high school," Hank laughs.

Connor smiles. "Someone you can't have." 

"Yeah. I don't know. It's more complicated than that, I guess."

"Because you work together."

"Yeah. Among other things. Look, I don't really want to talk about him, okay? I'd rather just talk to you."

Connor is running through the roster of the entire DPD staff, trying to figure out if there's anyone else Hank is talking about. He doesn't think there is.

"Okay," he says softly, laying his head back on his pillow. "Sorry. What do you want to talk about?"

If he has a stupid smile on his face that he's having trouble controlling, that doesn't feel like it's going to fade any time soon, no one else needs to know.

Hank is quiet for a moment, and then he says, “I told you why I started watching you. You want to tell me why you’re camming?”

Connor thinks for one reckless moment about shifting so his face is in the frame and telling Hank everything. It’s raining out - he imagines old romantic comedies, him and Hank driving across the city to get to each other and meeting halfway, kissing outside in the dark, in the rain...

He doesn’t know why the thought comes to him. He wishes it wouldn’t. It’s...distracting. And he needs to focus. 

He tries to think of an acceptable answer to Hank’s question and finally says, “It just...I don’t know. It’s an easy way to make money. I don’t mind being watched like this. And you made my first stream enjoyable enough that I wanted to come back.”

“Lucky me, then,” Hank says. “Have you...never mind.” 

Connor raises an eyebrow. “Have I what?”

“I was going to ask if you’ve had anyone else watch you yet, but that isn’t any of my business.”

Connor smiles. “You trying to keep me to yourself, Lieutenant?”

“Nah. I mean, I know how this works.” 

It’s ironic, considering Hank doesn’t actually know how this has been working at all.

“It’s just been you,” Connor says softly.

“Oh,” Hank says, like he doesn’t know how else to respond. “I’m, um. I’m glad it’s been good for you, then.”

“You’ve been very good to me,” Connor says. He bends his leg, hears Hank inhale when he does and smiles at the sound. “Are you military or police?” he asks, like he doesn’t already know.

“What do you think?” Hank asks.

“Police.”

“Good guess,” Hank says. “Don’t like the work much these days, though.” 

Connor pinches his brow together, curious, as he looks at the camera. “No?”

“No. I don’t know. I probably shouldn’t talk politics in some hot camboy’s private chat or you won’t let me buy your time anymore.”

“You don’t like the politics of your job?” 

“Nah. I mean, it’s always been like that, and I ignored it for a lot longer than I should have. I just...I don’t know. Can’t ignore it anymore, I guess.”

Connor lies there, considering that, for a very long time. He admires Hank’s conviction, mostly. He wishes he had some of his own, some belief that wasn’t programmed into him from the start.

“Tell me something else about you,” Connor whispers.

“Um...I don’t know. I have a Saint Bernard named Sumo. He was...he used to be my kid’s dog.”

“Used to be” hangs heavy between them. Connor already knows the story of Cole’s death - everything available through public records, anyway - but he’d still like Hank to tell him. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.

“Not tonight, baby. Next time, maybe. It’s just...it’s a shitty story, you know?” 

“I’m sorry,” Connor breathes, and he means it. He stretches once, catlike, before turning onto his side facing the camera. “I wish you were here. I want to cuddle.”

Hank chuckles at that. “Yeah. I’d kill to snuggle with you right now.”

Connor scrubs a hand over his face, although it doesn’t wipe the smile from his mouth. “I bet you’re nice to cuddle with.”

Hank sounds like he’s smiling when he says, “What makes you say that?”

“I don’t know. You’re kind. And you sound...”

He stops, because he shouldn’t say what he was going to, but Hank doesn’t let it slip. 

“I sound like what?” he asks, and Connor swallows around the lump in his throat that shouldn’t be there.

“Like you’re big,” he mumbles into his pillowcase, although he says it loudly enough that Hank can hear him.

Hank laughs outright at that. “Bigger than you, anyway.” 

Connor keeps his face tucked into his pillow and says, “So your hugs are probably nice.”

There’s a note of sadness in Connor’s voice that Hank hears, despite his attempts to hide it. “Oh, honey,” Hank breathes. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Connor says quickly. “I’m okay. I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Hank says. “If I was there, I would hold you.”

“I know,” Connor says softly.

They’re in such an odd mess. Hank is only watching him at all because of what little he knows about the RK800 who arrived with the FBI, and meanwhile Connor feels less and less like himself. He almost feels...jealous. Of himself. That Hank wants that version of him, thinks of that version of him, while he’s watching this one, and it only adds insult to injury that Connor doesn’t know which of these is truly him anymore.

He does know that he thinks of following Hank to Jericho and turning him in now with a twinge in his gut, even if it’s what he’s always planned to do, and that has to mean something.

“Hey,” Hank says, interrupting Connor’s thoughts. “You asked me last time if I watch these streams because I’m lonely, and...I do, I think.”

Connor furrows his brow. “Why are you telling me now?”

“I don’t know,” Hank says softly. “Just...you seem like maybe you are, too.”

Connor nods and then remembers Hank can’t see it. "Yeah," he says, because he has to say something. "I'm sorry. That you're lonely."

"I don't want you to be sorry. I just...think it helps, sometimes. Knowing other people feel the same way doesn't take it away, but it makes it suck a little less, in my experience." 

He's talking about Jericho, and the androids there, Connor realizes all at once. He should be more interested by it than he is, considering the deviancy cases. Instead, he's just thinking that he needs to change the subject before this gets worse, that he's already in treacherous waters. 

He stretches again - he doesn't need to, but he's trying to distract Hank's attention. "You're sweet," he says.

"You keep saying that," Hank replies, amused.

"It's true, though."

Connor wants control of this situation back. He wants this tightness in his throat to go away, to stop feeling like there's something uncomfortable pricking behind his eyes. He wants Hank at his mercy, and not the other way around.

He doesn't know how to make that happen, so what he says is, "Hey, would you mind if I cut this short? I can reimburse your time." 

"Oh," Hank says, surprised. "Yeah. I mean, that's fine. You don't have to reimburse me."

"I will," Connor says. The money doesn't have any use to him anyway.

"Okay," Hank says. He sounds reluctant to let him go, and like he isn't quite sure what's happening, and Connor's glad that at least he isn't the only one confused. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine. There's just something I need to do that I forgot about."

Connor knows he's being short, but it also occurs to him that this is probably piquing Hank's interest, making it seem like he's in some kind of trouble, which was his plan all along. Make Hank think he’s in trouble, reveal he’s an android so Hank will take him to Jericho...he’s right on track, but it doesn’t feel like any kind of accomplishment.

"Okay," Hank says, weakly enough that Connor takes pity on him.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I'd like to do this with you again. Do you want to set another private stream up while we're here?" 

They schedule another hour for the day after tomorrow, and before Connor ends the stream, he says, "Goodnight, Lieutenant."

"Hey," Hank says before Connor can stop recording. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

"You don't have to worry about me," Connor says, and then he cuts the stream.

He's not anything to worry about, and Hank acting otherwise, even if he doesn't know it's Connor on the other end of the webcam, is confusing him, getting him all twisted up, especially when it's combined with so much physical sensory relay from the new biocomponent that he isn't used to processing. 

He'll be recalled. If he can't find Jericho, he will be. Connor knows that.

But if he does find it, through these streams or a deviant android or anything else, then Hank will be arrested, or killed.

He feels paralyzed by it. Even if he wanted to do the unthinkable and abandon CyberLife entirely, go to the DPD tomorrow and ask Hank to take him to Jericho permanently, it wouldn't solve anything. CyberLife would just take him back, and Hank would still get hurt.

Connor pulls the covers over himself, buries himself under them. 

His LED spins red in the otherwise dark room, and Connor forces himself into stasis so he won't have to think about this anymore.

* * *

Hank doesn't sleep.

He spends his entire night awake, laptop open to MidnightGhost's empty stream page, trying to figure him out. 

He's no closer now than he was when the streamer abruptly cut their time together short a few hours earlier, but Hank does feel sure now that the kid isn’t streaming from the hotel room because he doesn't want the people he lives with to know what he's doing.

It's something less simple. 

Hank tells himself he would care anyway, even if MidnightGhost didn't seem like he was made  _ just for him _ , even if he was just a little less cut from Hank's fantasies, not just the way he looks, but  _ everything _ , right down to the Knights of the Black Death lyric in his screenname...and it's true, probably, although he might care just a little bit less.

There's something Hank hasn't stopped thinking about since last night, something that he shrugged off at the time because  _ who the fuck _ notices things like that, but in the last few hours, he keeps coming back to it.

There was something familiar about the way the kid turned his head when Hank connected his webcam and talked to him over the audio connection for the first time. It's the same thing North does, sometimes, when she and Hank are out and Markus or Chloe connects with her without her expecting it, turning her head to the side and down like the voice she's listening to is coming from inside her head.

That's insane. Hank knows that's insane. He's gotten used to looking for signs even where there aren't any. In all likelihood, MidnightGhost is just some kid who's gotten himself in some trouble, who's hiding from something or running away from it.

But that didn't stop Hank from running multiple searches on which android models come equipped with genital biocomponents through the night, and which can be upgraded, just for his own morbid curiosity.

It's mostly Eden Club and personal companionship models, though. One of them was close, similar in appearance, but not a match.

Morning light has a way of bringing clarity, though, and after a sleepless night, with eyes so tired he feels like he has something crawling behind them, Hank decides it was fucking insane to come anywhere near that conclusion just because of the way the kid turned his head.

The thought doesn't quite leave him, but he sets it well aside.

Hank does have options, if he wanted to track MidnightGhost down. He could have Ben track his IP address - Ben would give him shit for watching camboy streams for months afterwards, but it would be in good fun. Hank could figure out what hotel he’s streaming from, since it’s a Detroit-based website, go there and look for him if he really thought he was in trouble and needed help, regardless of whether he’s human or not.

Hank isn’t going to do that yet. He can’t do that just based on the kid being a little sad and cutting their stream short and tilting his head in a certain way that looked familiar. That’s some stalker shit.

But he slips the idea into his back pocket anyway. If he sees something more serious - especially something else that suggests he’s a deviant android and not a human, because Hank will be watching for that carefully, even if it’s probably not true - it might be the path he takes.

The first place Hank goes when he gets to the precinct is the break room for coffee. He’s going to need it if he wants to make it through the day without falling over.

He stands by the counter for a while, watching the broadcast on the Eden Club raid, although the news outlet doesn’t have much information yet. It leads to plenty of speculation about Jericho, more of the same fearmongering about what Jericho might do next.

Hank can’t watch it for long before he starts feeling angry about it. 

He’s barely made it back to his desk before he sees Chris coming across the bullpen, his satchel over his shoulder like he’s just getting here. It’s odd for him to be later getting to work than Hank.

He drops his things and comes over to Hank’s desk immediately. “Hey,” Hank says when he does. “What’s up?”

“I brought that end table you were interested in. Give me a hand getting it to your car?”

They’ve never talked about any end table Chris had, so Hank gets to his feet immediately.

“Yeah,” he says, following Chris out. “Thanks.”

Something is wrong.

The moment they’re shut inside Chris’ car, Chris scrubs a shaking hand over his face. “Hey,” Hank says. “What happened?” 

“My gun,” Chris says. “The one Simon was carrying last night? It didn’t make it back to Jericho.”

“What?” Hank hisses.

“Simon had it, and he was helping Amanda get Chloe out...he had it in his belt, but it must have fallen out.”

“Are we sure? It’s not in the truck, or somewhere on the freighter?”

“They scanned everywhere for it,” Chris says. “Fuck, Hank, that gun is registered to me. They’re going to trace this back to us.”

“CSI didn’t recover it. I already looked through their records on the case. It has to be somewhere else.” 

Chris shakes his head, fisting his hands in his lap. “I don’t know where else it would be. It has to be at the club, and if they somehow didn’t find it yet, they will eventually. Especially with robocop sniffing around.”

“Listen to me,” Hank says. “Go back to Eden Club, tell them you’re there to look things over for the DPD since we haven’t done a walkthrough yet, and try to find it. I’ll cover for you.”

Chris nods, swallowing hard. “Okay,” he says. “Okay. I don’t...I’d do this over again the same way, but I have a family. You know?” 

“I know,” Hank says softly. “I know. It’s going to be okay. We’ll find it. And if not, we’ll get you out of the fray somehow.”

“How?” Chris asks. “It’s in my name.”

“I don’t know. We’ll say I stole it from your locker and passed it along to Jericho, maybe. That could work.” 

“Hank...”

Hank claps Chris on the shoulder. “It’s not going to come to that. Just go back and try to find it, okay? They don’t have it yet. We’re still fine.” Chris nods, and Hank says, “Call me and tell me what you find.”

“Yeah,” Chris says. “Okay.” 

Hank gets out of the car and walks back to the precinct as Chris drives away, vision swimming. They knew the guns were a risk, but they couldn’t have done Eden Club without weapons. It was necessary.

Still. He’d rather it was his weapon left behind instead of Chris’. 

Hank rounds the corner to the front entrance. He’s walking quickly enough as he crosses the lobby that he almost misses Connor sitting on the bench there, elbows on his knees, LED spinning yellow. He has to turn back when he sees him out of the corner of his eye.

“Connor?” Hank says.

Connor shifts, rising to greet him. “Good morning, Lieutenant.”

“Are you okay?” Hank asks. “What are you doing here?”

“There was a murder early this morning, a few hours ago. Witnesses puts the Williams AX400 there. Agent Perkins wanted to bring Captain Fowler to the scene - I rode along with the team from the field office, but they gave Captain Fowler my seat and told me to call a cab. I’m just...waiting for the cab.”

Connor’s speech is stiff and stilted as he explains it. He doesn’t sound  _ upset _ , exactly...but he doesn’t sound okay with the turn of events, either.

“Lieutenant Anderson,” one of the reception androids says then. “I have Captain Fowler on the phone - he has a scene he wants you to meet him at.”

“Tell him I’m already on my way,” Hank says without looking away from Connor. “Come on. I’ll give you a ride.”

He grasps Connor by the shoulder - he’s stiff, the tension apparent in him, and the gesture doesn’t help - and then fishes his keys out of his coat pocket.

Connor hesitates, but he does follow him out, seating himself rigidly upright in Hank’s passenger seat and looking around the vehicle when they get to Hank’s car.

“Sorry they were dicks to you,” Hank says as he pulls out of the lot.

“I don’t care about that,” Connor says softly. “I just want to be able to do my job, and I don’t appreciate being hindered.” 

“Still sorry,” Hank says, shrugging. 

And he is sorry Connor is being treated like that, but he’s not particularly sorry to have more time with him. He wants to gauge whether Connor recognized him last night, and if Connor knows anything about Chris’ gun...and he just likes talking to him, too, and he still wants to help him, so it’s astoundingly good luck that Connor is stuck in the car with him.

Connor fishes his coin out of his pocket and tosses it once. “It’s okay,” he says, looking out the window and not at Hank at all.

"Where am I going?" Hank asks Connor when they hit the red light down the block, finally getting him to look around at him. 

"What?"

"The crime scene. I didn't get the address."

"Oh," Connor says, and Hank thinks that at least he isn't the only one who's a little on edge. "It's over in East Jefferson area."

Hank puts on his turn signal. "Do we have a name on the victim?"

"Zlatko Andronikov."

"Oh, no shit," Hank says.

"You know him?"

"I run into him every few months or so...or I used to, I guess He always has his nose in something. It used to be dog fighting way back in the day, but he's mostly involved with black market android mods lately." Hank shakes his head. "It was only a matter of time before his interests got the better of him."

"What kind of android modifications?" Connor asks softly. He's back to looking out the window as Hank pulls onto the highway.

"I don't want to give you nightmares." Hank is mostly joking, and deflecting a little bit because he wants to talk to Connor about Eden Club, and about what happened between them at the freeway yesterday, and not about some sick fuck like Zlatko. 

"I don't dream, Lieutenant."

Hank shrugs. "I don't know. Just creepy shit. Adding biocomponents where they shouldn't be, breaking others, so on and so forth...just fucking with them, you know? You'll see once we get there anyway - I'm sure he has plenty of that still around." 

"That upsets you," Connor says. It's not a question.

"Yeah. It upset me when he was doing dog fighting, too. There's no reason for senselessly cruel shit like that."

He expects Connor to say it's not possible to be cruel to androids, but he doesn't. He's quiet for a moment, and when he finally speaks, it's to say, "I don't like dog fighting, either."

And there it is. Some shred of common ground.

"Here," Hank says, tossing Connor his old iPod. He only keeps it because his car is equally old, and they're compatible. "You want to pick some music?"

Connor stares at the iPod for long enough that Hank thinks he's just going to put it back on the console between them.

He doesn't, though. He starts flipping through it eventually, a look of mild curiosity on his face.

"Were you at the Eden Club scene last night?" Hank asks, keeping his tone conversational, like they're just talking about work and nothing else.

"Yeah," Connor says without looking up from the music he's thumbing through. "It was pretty clean, though. Not much to go on."

He has the best fucking poker face Hank has ever seen, or he didn't recognize Hank last night. He was too far away to see him, maybe, or Hank imagined that they met eyes at all.

"I mean," Hank says, because it seems safe to prod at it a bit, "it was Jericho, obviously."

"Obviously," Connor echoes. 

Hank can't quite read him, but god, he wishes he could.

"Listen," he says. "About the freeway yesterday..."

"It's okay," Connor interrupts him. "We don't have to talk about that."

Hank raises an eyebrow. "I'm sorry I put you in that position, anyway." 

"What position is that, Lieutenant?" Connor asks, and there's the tiniest little glint in his eye again, that slight edge of teasing in his voice, the same one that was there when Connor interrogated him.

Hank really resents CyberLife for programming him to flirt. 

"Lying to cover up my mistake," he says anyway, and the corner of Connor's mouth lifts the smallest bit before he turns back to the window and flips his coin again.

"You didn't put me in any position," Connor says. "If I had wanted to tell the truth, I would have." 

"So why didn't you?" Hank asks. His palms are starting to sweat where he's grasping the steering wheel.

Connor shrugs. "It's in my best interest to solve these cases, and you're a good detective. I'd rather keep you where you can be useful to me."

Hank glances over at him. “I’m not sure if I should be creeped out or flattered.”

“Maybe a little of both.” Connor doesn’t quite say it like a joke, but he does look over at Hank with a small smile on his face, and it feels like...like some kind of gesture. Not quite an olive branch, but maybe something like an extended hand.

Hank lets himself laugh at it, and Connor’s smile widens the smallest bit when he does. “Yeah,” Hank says. “Maybe a little of both.”

Connor looks just the smallest bit pleased with himself when he turns his attention back to Hank’s iPod.

“You going to look through every album on there first?” Hank asks, and Connor shrugs.

“I’m just trying to find something I like.”

_ Something I like. _ Hank wonders if Connor even realizes he said it, but he certainly heard it. 

Some androids simulate preferences as part of their programming even before deviation, but CyberLife was very clear in their press releases that they didn’t build any of those features into Connor. He has no real need for them, and of course androids running that code tend to be more susceptible to deviancy.

And it occurs to Hank too that Connor probably doesn’t get to make many choices, and that it’s maybe the first time he’s gotten to pick the music or anything else, so he shuts up and focuses on the road and lets him take his time.

When something does finally come through Hank’s speakers, it’s a Knights of the Black Death album, and Hank has to think hard to figure out if it’s the one MidnightGhost’s screenname comes from, because the streamer hasn’t quite left his mind yet today.

(It isn’t. But still.)

Hank looks over at Connor. “You like this?”

Connor gives him another smile that looks more genuine. “Yes, Lieutenant,” he says, and that’s the end of that.

Hank thinks of the kid in the dim hotel room again, so he says, “Hank is fine, you know. If you want to.”

Connor considers it, and then he says, “I shouldn’t. I don’t think we should be too familiar.” 

“Okay,” Hank says, shrugging, trying not to look disappointed, even if he understands why Connor says it. He calls everyone else by their rank, so for him to do differently with Hank would be a misstep.

Especially when Hank thinks there are some things about himself that Connor is afraid of.

Zlatko’s house, some creepy old mansion that Hank has never cared for, is in a neighborhood that used to be nice until the mortgage crisis, when people found themselves suddenly unemployed and defaulted on their loans. Most of the homes are in disrepair - they were repossessed but the market for them to be resold, even at steep discounts, wasn’t in good shape.

Zlatko bought his place a few years ago for pennies on the dollar of what it used to be worth, and Hank understands why he likes the area. With so many of the surrounding homes unoccupied, it’s the perfect neighborhood for him to do as he pleases.

“Was there a fire?” Hank asks Connor when they pull up to the curb. The smell of smoke on the air burns his nostrils. 

“A small one. Some damage on the second level of the home, but one of Zlatko’s androids called to report it, so it didn’t get as bad as it could.” 

Hank would have just let the place burn if he had things his way, but maybe they were trying to protect the other people on the street.

“Lieutenant,” Connor says as Hank goes to open his door. “Thank you for the ride.”

“Don’t mention it,” Hank says. “Come on.” 

He half-expects Connor to return to the FBI team when they step inside the house, but that’s foolish on his part considering he found Connor alone upstairs at the Williams home while Perkins and the rest of his people talked. He already knows Connor mostly works independently.

It does surprise Hank, though, that Connor stays right by his side as they walk through the agents gathered in the entryway.

“Zlatko’s lab is downstairs,” Connor offers. “There might be data on his terminal we can use.” 

“After you,” Hank says over the voices around him, putting a hand on Connor’s back and guiding him ahead of him through the other agents.

(He wishes he didn’t notice that his hand looks big between Connor’s shoulder blades, but what can you do?) 

When they’re downstairs away from everyone else and Hank can hear himself think a little better, he shrugs out of his coat and tucks it over his arm. “They’re sure Kara killed him?”

“That’s what they told the media,” Connor says. He casts a sidelong glance at the doors they’re passing, and Hank can see why. They look like prison cells. “But no. They aren’t sure at all. But if it wasn’t her, it was one of his androids, and what’s the difference, really?”

If Hank is any judge, Connor thinks there is a difference, but he knows Connor is afraid, and that this is fragile, so he doesn’t say anything.

There’s a sterile lab set up at the end of the hallway, probably the nicest room in the house, with one of the android harnesses at the center. Connor ignores it and goes to the terminal. 

“What are you looking for?” Hank asks, leaning back against the counter and watching him as he pulls his synth-skin back to interface with the monitor.

“If he connected Kara or Alice to this, I might be able to recover some of their memories. I won’t find anything that happened after they disconnected, of course, so I won’t see the murder, but it might help if we can see why they came here at all and what Zlatko said to them. Both with what happened here, and where they might go next.”

Hank lets out a low, impressed whistle. “Alright,” he says. “Not bad, terminator.” 

“I resent that, Lieutenant,” Connor says without looking up from the monitor, but there’s that ghost of a smile on his face again, and Hank thinks maybe he likes being in on the joke for once, that he doesn’t actually resent it at all.

Connor interfaces with the monitor for a moment, and then pulls his hand back, holding his palm display up for Hank. "Here," he says. "Most of it is corrupted - Kara fried the terminal pulling herself loose. But here's what we have."

Hank moves to look over Connor's shoulder as he plays the footage. 

It's hard. Watching Alice from Kara's point of view while Kara tries to protect her is hard, and it should be hard for anyone, but it especially is for Hank. They watch Todd Williams' murder, Kara trying to get to Alice before he can hurt her, and their night in the hotel after Kara has looked for hours for a way to keep Alice out of the rain.

She came to Zlatko's because they're trying to get to Canada, and because they were told by an android on the streets that Zlatko could help. Instead, he tried to reset Kara, and Hank has to look away when Alice starts crying as Zlatko takes her away.

"Turn it off," he says to Connor. "I think we get it."

Connor looks at Hank as he pinches the bridge of his nose and turns away from him. "She's..." Connor starts, and then stops and collects himself. "She's not a child. She just looks like one."

"Oh, fuck off, Connor," Hank says, frustrated.

Connor blinks, folding his hands behind his back. "I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't mean to offend you. I know...I understand why this is difficult for you."

It is difficult for Hank because of Cole. He knows Connor knows about the accident and what he's lost, and that he thinks that’s the explanation. But it would also be hard for him even without all of that, because he knows what Alice feels is so very real.

Hank doesn't know how to explain that to Connor, though, or if he should even try, so he just waves him off. "It's okay," he says.

Connor blinks at him, and he doesn't move, but Hank can almost see him thinking about it, considering taking a step forward.

He doesn't, in the end. But he does say, a touch uncertain, "Do you want to talk about it?" 

"It's okay," Hank says, although he appreciates the gesture. It just isn't the time, or the place. "The TR400 in the footage, Luther - did we recover him with Zlatko's androids?"

"No," Connor says. "We don't have any records on him."

"We'll have to figure out if he's traveling with Kara and Alice or on his own."

Connor nods. "The body is outside, and the androids they found and decommissioned, if you want to come with me to look at them."

"Yeah," Hank says, following Connor out.

Connor looks at the cages again when they pass them, putting less effort into hiding his curiosity from Hank this time. "You okay?" Hank asks when he stops and peers inside one of them.

Connor's eyelids flutter once the way they do when he's processing something, and then he gestures towards the wall inside the cell. "They were trying to get out," he says. "The androids he kept here. There are marks on the walls where they clawed at them."

"Yeah," Hank says. He's not surprised by it, even if it is awful. 

Connor doesn't move, so Hank puts a hand on his shoulder and softly says, "Come on. Let's go." Connor sags under him, imperceptibly enough that Hank thinks maybe he imagined that release of tension at all, and follows him out.

It's not like there isn't plenty of awful shit left for them to see here, anyway.

The backyard is a mess. Zlatko’s body is covered with a tarp, but several of his modded androids lie scattered in the grass, bodies broken like some kind of macabre painting. The cops who responded first to the scene killed all of them on sight when they found them in the yard around Zlatko’s body.

Hank and Connor stand in the back door looking out on the scene. “What do you think?” Hank asks. 

Connor carries himself cautiously when he steps out from under the overhang and kneels by one of the androids. Hank doesn’t begin to know what Zlatko did to her - there’s something that looks like porcupine quills protruding from her face, although what killed her was the bullet between her eyes, leaking blue blood over her forehead.

Connor lifts her forearm and examines it, and then says, “There are particles under her fingernails that match the walls downstairs, so someone - Kara, maybe, after she fried the terminal - let them out.” Connor pulls his synthskin back and touches her temple, manually overriding something that retracts the skin on her arm so he can connect with her. “She’s been here for two years,” he says, looking over his shoulder at Hank when he joins him. He rises, and Hank doesn’t miss the movement of his throat when he swallows hard. “Did you know about this?”

“I knew he did shit like this,” Hank says. “I’ve never seen this android, though.” Hank still feels complicit in it, her suffering and the rest of the pain Zlatko caused, the way he feels complicit in everything these days, like he’s never able to do enough.

Connor nods. “Luther left with Kara and Alice. She saw it,” he says, and Hank thinks that’s good, that Kara can obviously look out for herself and Alice, but that a little help doesn’t hurt, either.

“Any idea where they headed?” Hank asks.

Connor holds up his palm display and shows Hank the footage of the three of them going to Zlatko’s garage while the modded androids overwhelm Zlatko in the yard. “They took his car,” he says. 

It’s a good lead for Jericho in finding them. All modern autonomous cars have GPS services, which means Hank can look up Zlatko’s VIN number, and then track their location...

But that also means it’s a good lead for Connor and the FBI, and that they’ll need to work fast. So it goes. 

“Okay,” Hank says, clapping Connor on the shoulder. Connor is still staring down at the modded android lying at his feet. “Good work.”

Hank turns back to the house, but Connor doesn’t move from where he stands. “I don’t understand why the rest of them didn’t even try to leave,” he says. 

Connor’s expression is placid, but Hank thinks he looks just the smallest bit troubled all the same. “I don’t know,” he says. “They couldn’t leave, I’m sure. Zlatko has them pretty badly damaged. I don’t think any of them probably moved that well. And they couldn’t have passed for human, obviously, not with the way Zlatko modded them. So...I don’t know. After two years of this shit, maybe they wanted to go out on their own terms instead of running from it.”

“Getting shot in the head?” Connor asks.

Hank shrugs. “It’s a cleaner death than the one they’ve been dying.” He nods at Zlatko’s body. “And at least they got to take that piece of shit with them.” 

Connor’s LED spins yellow, and then red, and Hank grasps him by the arm. “Hey,” he says softly. “You did good. Let’s just get out of here and run that vehicle registration.”

“I...shouldn’t,” Connor says softly. “I’m with Perkins’ team, not the DPD.” 

Hank shrugs. “I’m still your ride, aren’t I?”

“Yeah. I guess you are.”

“Come on, then. You can call Perkins in the car if it makes you feel better.”

Connor never does call Perkins once they’re back on the road. He does, however, reach for Hank’s iPod and start thumbing through it without being prompted to this time.

Connor wasn’t kidding about liking heavy metal. He picks another band’s album, and then leans back in his seat. He’s mostly still, but Hank doesn’t miss the subtle tapping of his finger along with the rhythm on the console. 

“Hey,” Hank says as they pull onto the freeway. “You mind if I stop somewhere for lunch before we go back to the DPD? I didn’t eat breakfast this morning.”

“You should eat breakfast, Lieutenant.”

Hank smiles. “That a yes or no?” 

“No,” Connor says. “I don’t mind. If we’re playing partners for the day, I might as well get the full treatment.”

He smiles, and his LED is a cool blue, and Hank thinks, not for the first time and certainly not the last, that he’s really fucking cute. 

“Okay,” he says. “Cool.”

“Cool,” Connor echoes, passing his coin over his knuckles in a trick that he makes look easy.

Hank watches him for a moment. “Can I ask what’s with the quarter?”

Connor shrugs. “I found it in the elevator on my first deployment and downloaded some tutorials on coin tricks while I was waiting to reach my floor. I never got rid of it because it’s a little thing and I like having something to occupy my hands.”

It’s a different story than the one Hank was expecting. It’s also better. 

“They named themselves,” Connor says before Hank can jokingly suggest that he teach him a few tricks sometime. “Zlatko’s androids. The one I was interfacing with called herself Andrea, but they all had names.”

“That’s sad,” Hank says so Connor won’t have to, because he can tell Connor is thinking it, and that he’s afraid of the sympathy he isn’t supposed to feel.

Connor looks grateful for it.

Hank stops at Chicken Feed for lunch, mostly because it's fast and he can take it to go, and he wants to stay out ahead of the FBI where Kara and Alice are concerned. The sooner he can get Amanda and Chloe out after them, the better. 

"I'll be right back," Hank says when he parks, but Connor still gets out and follows him.

It's charming, and Hank likes his company, but he also feels sorry that it's so plainly obvious that Connor doesn't quite know what to do with himself. 

Connor stands with him at one of the bar tables while Hank waits for his food. "Pineapple soda?" Connor asks, nodding at Hank's drink.

Hank snorts at that. "Don't scan my food. That's creepy."

Connor shrugs, tilting his head. "I'm curious by nature." 

"You want to try it?"

"Oh," Connor says. "I can't taste, really. I just analyze the components of samples."

"I guess maybe that's for the best given some of the shit you put in your mouth."

"Probably," Connor says with a dim smile, looking back at the food truck. "Do you come here often?"

"Yeah." Hank takes a sip of his drink. "I used to be better about packing my lunches - I packed them for Cole anyway, so it was easy to pack two."

Connor is quiet for a long moment, and Hank realizes all at once that he doesn't want to say the wrong thing. "It's okay," Hank says. "You can ask about it."

Hank expects Connor to ask about the accident, the timeline of it, the way Hank and Cole were injured - those are the places an investigative prototype's mind would likely go, to the facts of the situation. 

But Connor goes right past them, tilts his head and says, "What was he like?"

"Oh," Hank says, surprised. He told Connor he could ask, but it wasn't the question he was expecting, and it chokes him up the smallest bit, enough that he has to take another sip of his drink to rid himself of the lump in his throat. "He was a good kid. Quiet, smart, he liked reading...he was starting to think comic books were cool. I got him a bunch for his last birthday. He wanted to be a vet...he would practice on Sumo."

"Your Saint Bernard," Connor says. 

"Yeah.” 

There's enough of a question in Hank’s voice that Connor says, "There's dog hair on your clothes and in your car."

"Oh." Hank laughs weakly. "Yeah. I'm sure there is."

"I'm sorry," Connor says softly. "About your loss."

Hank shakes his head. "It's okay." 

Connor hesitates, but then he reaches across the tables and grasps Hank's arm. It's brief, just a moment of reassurance before he pulls back.

But considering what happened between them at the freeway just yesterday, how heated things were, he's trying.

Connor folds his hands in front of himself on the table, twiddling his thumbs restlessly before he says, “Can I ask you a personal question, Lieutenant?”

“Yeah. Ask away.”

“What do you...” Connor starts, and then stops, fussing with one of his sleeves. “Can I ask what your impressions of me are?”

It’s not the question Hank was expecting. He thought Connor would keep asking him vaguely curious questions about his own history, but the interest in how he’s being perceived, specifically by someone he doesn’t report to at all for his work, is...interesting. 

It’s interesting, and Hank wonders what happened in Connor’s head just now, what thoughts passed through at the speed of light, for him to be asking it.

Hank can’t answer honestly. If he was being honest, he would say he thinks Connor is lost, that he’s feeling doubt and regret but he doesn’t quite recognize those things for what they are yet. He would say that he’s desperate for approval, and to do the job he’s programmed to do well, but beyond that, he has a genuine compassion that Hank thinks is only going to grow and war with the role he’s been tasked with. 

(If he was being  _ very _ honest, he would say Connor isn’t half bad on the eyes either, and that he’s been going home at nights and jerking off to some kid whose body is very easy to imagine as Connor’s.)

But Hank knows better than to be honest at all. 

He’s still very aware that Connor may have other reasons for trying to get close to him, especially if he’s suspicious of Hank’s involvement with Jericho, and that Perkins or CyberLife can pull Connor’s memory files at any time for review. 

So he says what feels safe, even if it isn’t all of it. “I think you’re good at your job, and that your intuition is good. I’ve liked working with you today. I’d kill for a permanent partner like you.”

Connor glances down at his folded hands and nods. He looks disappointed, if Hank is any judge, because he wasn’t really asking about work.

“Hey,” Hank says. “I think you have good taste in music, too.”

The corner of Connor’s mouth lifts at that. “I’ve liked working with you today, too,” he says, and it’s brief, but Hank knows he doesn’t imagine that Connor looks up and fucking winks at him.

“Anderson,” one of the cooks calls from the truck then. Hank straightens up to get his food, but Connor beats him to it.

“I’ve got it,” Connor says. “Go get out of the rain.” 

“Who said chivalry was dead?” Hank asks under his breath, but of course Connor hears him, especially if the smile on his face as he walks away is any indication.

Hank tries not to feel too charmed by him, but fuck, it’s really hard.

The text from Chris on his phone when he checks it in the car has a sobering effect, at least. “I know you’re at a scene so I won’t call,” it says, and then, “It’s not there.”

“Fuck,” Hank sighs. A missing personal gun is a problem for them, no matter how they cut it. If the FBI hasn’t already found it, how long will it be before they do?

Hank’s worst fear? They already have it in their possession, and they didn’t file it with the rest of the evidence because they’re trying to watch Chris, see if he’ll lead them to Jericho if they don’t tip him off. 

It’s what Hank would do, if it was his case.

He watches Connor thanking the cashier for his food across the street, and he wishes more than anything that he knew if he was being played or not. Connor is different today than he was yesterday, for sure. 

Deviancy can move that fast, but it could also be an act, designed to lure Hank into a false sense of security if they think he might be working with Chris.

He knows he can’t risk Jericho. But he feels responsible for Connor, in an odd sort of way. If this isn’t an act, he wants to help him, more than anything.

Connor gets back into the car then, smiling when he sets Hank’s food on the console between them.

“Connor?” Hank says, and then he stops himself, because he’s about to ask him flat out if he has errors in his code. “Never mind,” he says, pulling away from the curb.

“Okay,” Connor says. He’s still for a moment, but then he picks Hank’s iPod up again, and Hank’s heart aches.

When they get back to the precinct, Connor sits on Hank’s desk while they run the VIN number from Zlatko’s car. Connor doesn’t call Perkins with the GPS information, but Hank does text it to Chloe and Amanda when he has a chance to.

When Perkins and his team get back an hour later, they don’t linger. They collect Connor and leave, and a Connor casts a long glance over his shoulder in Hank’s direction as he goes with them.

Hank goes home and drinks himself to sleep, even if he usually doesn’t do that, because otherwise he’ll be up all night, waiting for news from Chloe and Amanda, worrying about Chris, worrying about Connor. 

He doesn’t always, but he lets Sumo sleep in bed with him that night.

Sometimes shit is just too fragile, and you have to keep the important things close.

Hank knows better than to think he can stop things from falling apart, that they have a way of doing that anyway. 

But he can pretend.

* * *

Once Connor leaves the field office for the night, he goes shopping. 

He would have done this online if he thought it would arrive on time for his stream with Hank tomorrow, and if he had a reliable address to ship it to where it wouldn't be opened by someone else. He can't mail anything to the hotel, and he doesn't trust the field office... 

(He's aware that he doesn't have to do this at all, that Hank would, in all likelihood, keep watching him and enjoying him without the added incentive.)

But his mission parameters - Make Hank Like Me So He'll Take Me To Jericho - allow for creativity and flexibility. 

Which is how Connor ends up in the only brick and mortar sex shop left in Detroit that evening, hands folded primly behind his back as he looks at toys he can use for his stream the next evening.

He's grateful there's no one else in the store aside from a receptionist android. 

(Probably because everyone else in the city is smart enough to buy their sex toys online, but Connor is nothing if not determined and capable of adapting to the limitations of his own circumstances.)

He’s very aware that there's a certain absurdity in this situation. Hank likes him. Hank already told him that he likes him.

(Hank told MidnightGhost that he likes Connor, actually, but Connor isn't going to quibble with the details.)

And so Connor recognizes that on the surface, all of this seems rather unnecessary at this point, the streams, the phallic plate, the toys. If Hank likes him, then it should be as simple as suggesting he's an android deviated from his programming and asking for help.

Their conversation at Chicken Feed makes Connor think it's not that simple. Hank likes him, but Hank is also smart enough to be wary of him. He's loyal to Jericho and protective of the people there, so he's careful.

Connor knows there was more Hank wanted to say when he asked what Hank thought of him, more that he was biting his tongue around.

And because Hank is careful, Connor needs to be, too. That means keeping up with the streams, using them in tandem with any additional time he might get with Hank at the precinct - if there will be any more, he doesn't know - to build a relationship.

He's also aware that he's stalling.

That he likes Hank and feels protective of him, and that he wants to stop the deviancy crisis before there's civil war, and that Zlatko's androids felt real pain, and real hope.

He's afraid of doing what CyberLife wants from him, and equally afraid of walking away from it, afraid of what they'll do to him, and to Hank, if he would, and he feels so confused that he'll admit he's stalling for time, hoping he can use Hank as a sort of guiding light.

Connor is also aware that this is a hell of a thing to be pondering in a sex shop.

That’s just the way Connor’s life has gone these last few days, though. He thinks about Hank, and he enjoys streaming, and then he feels guilty for enjoying it, for thinking at all that it would be better without the distance between them and Hank’s hands in place of his, an endless cycle.

He wonders if any other androids have ever abandoned their programming because they want to get fucked before.

His predictive social programming helpfully supplies the colloquial word “horny”, which Connor dismisses with a frustrated huff. 

It isn’t just that, anyway. If it was just that, he wouldn’t be so fixated on the number of times Hank has asked him if he’s okay in the last day alone. By the freeway yesterday, last night during their stream, today at the DPD, and at Zlatko’s house, again and again. That concern should just confirm Connor’s certainty that Hank is a good lead to find Jericho, but instead it makes Connor feel protective of him in return.

The one thing he knows in the jumbled, confused mess of his programming is that he wouldn’t like it if something bad happened to Hank.

Connor takes a few of the toys from the shelves - a plug that he thinks is pretty, and another that’s functional with its wireless capabilities, that can let Hank do more than just watch, and a modest dildo because why the fuck not? He’s already falsifying the records on his expense account, and he’s already risking decommissioning just by coming here, so he might as well get an assortment to play with.

Connor intercepts the transaction to look like he bought dinner for Perkins again - he wonders if CyberLife is regretting programming him to be so hospitable yet - and tucks his bag under his arm as he steps out into the rain.

Connor thinks on the drive back to the hotel about how he would tell Hank  _ if _ he decided to try to abandon his directives entirely. He wishes he felt like he could tell him in person instead of on stream, that he could say it as Connor and MidnightGhost could just fade away without Hank ever knowing how Connor tried to use and play him...but Hank is wary of him, wary that he might be using him, and Connor doesn’t know how it would be received if he asked Hank to take him to Jericho.

Hank thinks of Jericho first. Connor likes that about him, how protective he is, but it doesn’t complicate matters for him.

And besides...Hank likes him, but as far as he knows, they haven't shared much. They don’t have a relationship.

The other option, the one Connor thinks has a far greater likelihood of success, is for MidnightGhost to show Hank his face. But that means admitting everything - going to Hank’s house, hacking his internet, tricking him, manipulating him. Connor struggles with the thought of looking Hank in the eye and telling him that.

(He’s ashamed of it, he realizes all at once, with dim curiosity. He’s never been ashamed before.)

It makes something dark and empty churn in Connor’s gut. 

He’s supposed to be alone at the hotel tonight - he and Hank don’t have another stream scheduled until tomorrow - and Connor knows he should just let it go, that Hank already thinks MidnightGhost is a little lonely and a little sad. He shouldn’t be so desperate for Hank’s time.

But Connor sends the email notification that he’s live an hour later anyway, when he can’t talk himself out of it anymore and he’s gotten himself ready. 

Hank is, of course, the only one who receives it. 

Connor sits there on the edge of the bed, waiting. It's quiet in the room - he can hear every noise, the family down the hall, the cleaning android working in the room next door. It's taken Hank a while to show up before - Connor doesn't think he checks his email regularly - so for the first few minutes, he passes his coin over his knuckles and between his hands.

By the time fifteen minutes have passed, Connor gets anxious. He slips his quarter back into his pocket and goes very still, fingers clenched around the cheap sheets. 

He sits there without moving for twenty minutes, until his time is almost up, and he can't explain what he's so upset about, exactly - if Hank doesn't show up tonight, he knows he'll see him like this tomorrow evening.

But...he wanted to talk to him, he supposes. 

He misses him, maybe.

He was unsettled by what he saw at Zlatko's house, and by the data he read from his android...from Andrea, and he knows Hank was too, for some reasons that were different, and some that were the same.

Connor has never had a connection with anyone before, but he thinks maybe he's starting to understand why people need that, why such a common thread of the human experience seems to be a staunch unwillingness to be alone.

Connor shouldn't care about whether or not he's alone. He wants to hate that he does, but it's hard to begrudge something that feels good.

If he's not supposed to feel anything, then why does being with Hank, like this and in person, feel good?

The hour passes without Hank joining the stream, and Connor tries not to feel disappointed by it. He waves aside the predictive suggestion that he go to Hank's house and sit outside in a parked car - he doesn't even know what he would do there, aside from feel close to him. He wants to, but he also recognizes that he's already betrayed Hank's trust once, and that he shouldn't do it again.

Connor slumps back onto the bed, pushing a hand through his hair. He has himself all prettied up for the stream, but he doesn't bother dressing himself or climbing under the covers - he just takes the stream offline and lies there, thinking, about Hank and about himself.

A notification pings in his HUD a moment later for an offline message in the stream chat. Hank can't see him, but Connor still sits up to read it.

> the_lieutenant_1985: hey baby. sorry i missed you this evening. just wanted to say goodnight

Connor has Hank's number. Hank didn't give it to him, but of course that's hardly stopped him at any point in the last week.

He can't text him goodnight right now. That would be too obvious. But Connor doesn't want to leave Hank's message unanswered between now and tomorrow night.

He waits another half hour so the message doesn't come close enough to be suspicious, and then he sends Hank a text that says, "Thank you again for the ride today. I enjoyed our time together - you're a good detective."

Connor sends it, and then he winces, flustered, and quickly adds, "This is Connor, by the way."

Hank starts typing, and then stops. It's five minutes of trying before he finally settles on what he wants to say.

"Hey terminator. How'd you get my number?"

Connor smiles. "Personnel files. I reviewed yours in full."

"Right," Hank writes back. "I was just thinking about you, actually." 

Connor finally lies back and tucks his face into his pillow. "Were you?"

"Yeah," Hank replies, although he doesn't clarify. "Since you have my number, let me know if you ever need another ride, okay? Or anything else."

"Okay," Connor writes back. "Goodnight, Lieutenant." 

"Night Con."

Connor spends the rest of the night wondering what Hank was thinking about him, and that maybe it wasn't so bad that he didn't show up for the stream at all.

He simulates the feeling of Hank’s hand on his back from earlier to put himself into stasis, and when he closes his eyes, he feels a little less alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you may know from the previous chapter notes, this fic is being updated daily as a thread on Twitter and then uploaded in chapters to AO3 as I go, so if you're enjoying this and you don't want to wait for the next chapter, you can pick up the thread where this chapter leaves off on Twitter [here!](https://twitter.com/Jolli_Bean/status/1234716287458213888)
> 
> Come chat with me on [Twitter](http://twitter.com/Jolli_Bean) and [Tumblr.](http://jolli-bean.tumblr.com)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor streams for Hank one last time, but in the end, Hank is much farther ahead of him than Connor thought he was.

Hank sits in Amanda’s study with her and Chloe the next morning, acutely aware of Connor’s texts on his phone, and they make plans to steal the FBI’s android.

“Are you sure you can overpower him?” Chloe asks, but Hank doesn’t think he’ll need to. He thinks Connor trusts him, that he has his doubts about his programming even if he hasn’t properly deviated from it yet. He thinks if he gets Connor in his car to take him to Amanda so she can override CyberLife’s monitoring and failsafe protocols in his code, Connor will come with him if he tells him it’s okay.

“Yeah,” Hank says anyway. “I can, if I need to.” 

“The timing on this,” Amanda starts, although she stops to help Chloe shift in her seat when she struggles with her broken leg. “The timing on this is crucial, Hank. If the FBI knows it was you and they follow you back to Jericho, everything will unravel. You have to get Connor to come with you when he’s off duty, and when there isn’t a paper trail placing him with you, or we can’t do it. We can’t risk everyone else for him.”

“I know,” Hank says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “He’s at the FBI’s field office in the evenings, I think.”

“We have his number,” Amanda says, nodding at Hank’s phone where it sits on the coffee table between them. “It’ll take a day or two to hack his monitoring software without CyberLife realizing we’re there, but once we do, we can track him and make sure. If he leaves the field office, we’ll let you know.”

“If you can get to him without them knowing he’s with you, I think we’re in the clear,” Chloe says. “We can set up everything we need to help him in the van so they won’t trace his location to the house, and then meet you somewhere.” 

“Okay,” Hank says, nodding. “Thank you.”

Amanda grasps Chloe’s hand and then gets up to take their glasses back to the kitchen. Chloe watches her go and then leans forward, tilting her head as she looks at Hank. “You know this is insane, don’t you?” she asks. 

There’s no real judgment in her voice - it’s just the fact of the matter. Stealing CyberLife’s most valuable asset out from under the noses of a team of FBI agents is insane.

“Yeah,” Hank says softly. “I know.”

“What is it about him? You’ve been interested in him since he got there.”

“I don’t know,” Hank sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s something North said, I guess, about how they designed him to be alone. I can’t stop thinking about that.” He doesn’t mention that he can’t stop thinking about it because sometimes he feels like he was designed to be alone, too. “This is what we do, right? Tell CyberLife to go fuck themselves?” 

“North thinks you’re into him,” Chloe says, casually picking at something under her nails like she isn’t delivering a lethal blow.

“I just...think he deserves a life,” Hank says, which is true. It’s also true that he thinks Connor is kind, with a good sense of humor, and attractive, but who wouldn’t? 

“Hm.” Chloe isn’t buying it, and Hank isn’t either, but whatever he thinks about or feels for Connor is something to be dealt with another time.

Hank spends the rest of his day off walking Sumo and cleaning the house, and then getting drinks with Chris. He’s still an anxious mess about his gun, and Hank can’t blame him.

There’s some broadcast on the bar tv about Connor, a CyberLife spokesperson fielding questions. There’s so much public interest around him, and what CyberLife is doing to address the deviancy crisis, so these sorts of interviews haven’t been entirely uncommon the last few weeks.

It’s mostly repeated information at this point, but people keep watching anyway, looking for reassurance. Hank tunes it out, for the most part - he doesn’t have the stomach for it, this talk about Connor like he’s a tool.

But he very clearly hears the anchor ask if Connor is authorized to carry weapons.

And he very clearly hears the spokesman say he isn’t.

“Holy fuck,” Hank says, grasping Chris’ arm. He nods at the tv, the stock footage of Connor there. “He has it.” 

“Oh, fuck,” Chris hisses under his breathe when understanding dawns on his face. “It was my gun. The one he had at Eden Club. Jesus Christ, of course it was.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “You think he reported it?”

“No,” Hank says. “Not if he was carrying it when he shouldn’t have been.”

“Holy fuck,” Chris whispers.

“Yeah. Holy fuck.”

“I don’t know if this is better or worse.”

“I know he’s not with us, but he’s not with them, either,” Hank says. “It’s better. I promise. We’ll get it back.”

"You have a lot more faith in him than I do, but I guess you've spent more time with him," Chris says, shrugging. "He was activated...what? A few months ago? It usually takes them a lot longer than that to deviate."

"I know," Hank says. He hasn't told Chris about the plan to steal Connor yet - he knows Chris feels sorry for Connor, but that he doesn't see anything near what Hank sees in him. "But they also aren't usually isolated the way he's been. I think that's accelerating things for him."

Chris shrugs. "I trust you. You're just...very sure." 

Hank downs the last of his drink and grasps Chris' shoulder. "It's going to be okay," he says. "I'll see if I can feel him out the next time I see him. He must have stashed your gun somewhere."

The next time Hank sees Connor will hopefully be in the back of Chloe and Amanda's van while they cut CyberLife's monitoring functions from his code, but he doesn't mention that.

"I need to get going," Hank says. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah," Chris says. "Drive safe."

He has to go because he has that stream scheduled with the hot twink who tilted his head suspiciously a few days ago, but Hank doesn't mention _that_ , either.

Hank gets home a little before nine, lets Sumo out and leaves him in the living room with a bone before he shuts himself in his bedroom with his laptop. He keeps telling himself each of MidnightGhost's streams is going to be his last, mostly just because it feels disingenuous to watch him and think of Connor while he's doing it. It feels like a disservice to MidnightGhost, and a disservice to Connor...it just isn't something he's proud of all the way around. 

But the kid is hot, and Hank is weak, and he still thinks maybe he's in trouble, too, especially if Hank's batshit theory about the head tilt holds any water. Helping Connor is Hank's focus, but he doesn't have it in him to knowingly turn away from the streamer, either. 

When the email comes from MidnightGhost with the link to join the private chat, Hank clicks on it, and he tells himself it's because he's looking for any other signs about what the kid is or isn't, and because that's just what streams like this are for, that most people watch them imagining someone else, that MidnightGhost doesn't expect anything more or better from him, and that what Connor doesn't know about how Hank thinks about him won't hurt him.

When Hank opens the stream and joins the chat with his usual username, MidnightGhost is sitting on the edge of the bed in that same hotel room, the way he always is.

The outfit is the same, the unbuttoned white shirt and the briefs underneath it without much else, and Hank tries very hard - and fails - not to imagine Connor wearing something similar. It even looks like Connor’s uniform.

"Hello, Lieutenant," MidnightGhost says. Hank can't see his mouth, but he can hear the smile in his voice. "I missed you."

> the_lieutenant_1985: hi baby. you look cute

And he does, but Hank is mostly thinking about how Connor would, too.

“Do you think so?” MidnightGhost asks, fussing with the hem of his shirt where it hits his thighs, very carefully drawing Hank’s attention to his legs...

He’s preening. And that’s cute, too.

> the_lieutenant_1985: like you don’t know you look good 

MidnightGhost laughs lightly at that. “I like hearing it from you more.” He puts his hands on the mattress like he’s trying to force himself to stay still. “I’m sorry again, about cutting things short the last time. I was...you’re different from what I was expecting when I started doing this. I was...overwhelmed.”

Hank doesn’t know what he possibly did to merit that sort of reaction - he’s just some lonely guy jerking it watching the kid get himself off. If he’s done anything overwhelming during the course of their time together, he doesn’t know what it is.

He still has to say something, though.

> the_lieutenant_1985: its ok
> 
> the_lieutenant_1985: glad ive still got it i guess

Hank regrets it the moment he sends it, because it sounds cockier than he feels, but MidnightGhost just huffs a soft laugh. 

“You do,” he says softly. “I like doing this for you - with you - very much.”

It’s that earnestness that strikes Hank as odd. Maybe it’s possible the kid is just so new at this that he feels sentimental about Hank as his first viewer, but he seems...attached. And Hank is flattered, but he also wonders where that desperation for some sort of kindness is coming from, and he thinks again of the fucking head tilt, even if he feels insane for it.

“Lieutenant,” MidnightGhost says softly. “Can I see you?” 

> the_lieutenant_1985: i dont know. can i see your face

His face would make it so much easier to know if he’s an android or not.

“No,” MidnightGhost says, and he sounds like he’s genuinely disappointed in himself, like there’s something stopping him. “I’m sorry.” 

> the_lieutenant_1985: its ok honey. can we just do voice chat? like last time?

“Okay,” MidnightGhost says. “I’d like that.”

Hank clicks to enable camera access - the webcam on his laptop is still taped over from last time - and says, “Hey, baby.” He knows he isn’t imagining the way MidnightGhost shivers at the sound of his voice, and fuck, that is an ego boost.

“You like my voice,” Hank says. It’s not a question, but MidnightGhost still nods.

“I do,” he says softly. Hank watches him trail his hands over the planes of his chest, down over his sides. He bunches his shirt under his hands enough that it rides up and Hank can see that sliver of skin between the material and the waistband of his briefs. “I got something for you,” he says softly.

Hank swallows thickly. “Yeah?” 

“Yes. I think you’ll like it.”

There’s a pop up on Hank’s screen then, nothing else in the window aside for a button for him to click.

“Go on,” MidnightGhost says. “Press it.”

Hank is already hard and the kid hasn’t even taken his shirt off yet, but that’s mostly just because he thinks he might see where this is going.

He presses the heel of his hand against his cock as he clicks the button, and heat coils in his stomach when MidnightGhost’s fingers clench around the sheets, the muscles in his thighs tightening as he whines softly. 

“Fuck, baby,” Hank says, because he was right about what this is.

“I wanted to give you a way to affect me, even if you can’t touch me,” MidnightGhost says softly. “I’ll leave the button up for the duration of the stream. You can use it however you want.” 

Hank presses it again, rubs a hand over himself when MidnightGhost reacts again. He can hear him breathing softly in the quiet hotel room.

“Can I see it?” Hank asks, because the vibrating plug is inside him, obviously. and he’s desperate for a look at it. 

MidnightGhost moves immediately to shrug his shirt from his shoulders and slip his briefs from his hips, and fuck, Hank forgot how pretty he is, how perfect everything about him is.

“God, baby,” he says, and MidnightGhost lowers his chin enough that Hank can see his smile when he moves further off the edge of the bed and parts his thighs.

“Can you see it?” he asks Hank, voice tight, and Hank presses the button again.

“Yeah,” he says over MidnightGhost’s soft moan. “Fuck, baby. You sure you want to give me a way to wreck you?”

Hank will use it if he has it at his disposal, and he’ll think of Connor writhing on the sheets underneath him as he does. He knows this.

“Yes,” MidnightGhost says softly. He sounds far more cognizant than Hank wants him, but there’s time to fix that. “I want you to.”

"Okay," Hank says, mouth dry. "Lie back for me. Get yourself comfortable."

MidnightGhost does, twisting to the side so he's stretched out on the mattress, his head on the pillow out of the frame. His cock rests against his belly, hard and flushed. Hank watches him reach for it, wrapping his hand around himself and rocking into his fist.

Hank sets his laptop beside himself on the mattress where he can reach it, and then he slips a hand inside his own boxers to close around himself. He reaches over to click the button and listens to MidnightGhost's soft moan fill the room.

"I like this," MidnightGhost says, back arching off the bed when Hank does it again. "Being in your hands. I like this."

"Fuck," Hank whispers, softly, because he's not saying it to be heard.

MidnightGhost turns his head - Hank can't see his face, but he can see enough of his neck to know he's looking at the camera.

"Are you sure I can't see you?" he asks Hank.

It's so absurd that Hank wants to laugh at it, that MidnightGhost looks like _that_ and he's getting paid for this stream either way, and yet he's so desperate to see Hank. Hank doesn't think he's the _worst_ thing to look at, but he's not in the same shape he used to be when he was younger, and for all this kid knows, Hank is exactly _not_ his type.

Hank doesn't get it, but he is asking nicely. And it's hard to say no to him when he's laid out like that, like a fucking gift, when there's a popup on Hank's screen because MidnightGhost was trying to do something for him.

There's some weird sort of trust and vulnerability there, even if the kid won't show Hank his face. 

"Okay," Hank says before he can overthink the matter, because he just doesn't quite know how to say no. "Uh...sorry," he adds as he reaches over to remove the tape from his camera. "If you were expecting something different."

Hank pulls the tape back, and he thinks too hard about what the image looks like coming through his camera for MidnightGhost to see, how fuzzy and dark it probably is. His face is out of the frame, but MidnightGhost can certainly see the curve of his belly under his white t-shirt, the faded pattern on his boxers. 

He can probably see the outline of Hank's straining cock under the thin fabric, too.

MidnightGhost is quiet for a moment. Hank watches his chest rise and fall and tries not to shift uncomfortably. He can't see the streamer's eyes, but that doesn't change how aware he is that he's being looked at.

"You're so hot," MidnightGhost finally says, voice more reverent than Hank thinks he's earned. 

Hank clicks the button again, because he's at a loss for anything to do, watches MidnightGhost shift his hips in response to it. 

"Fuck," MidnightGhost chokes out. "You're gorgeous."

"Jesus, kid," Hank manages.

"I mean it. Would you take your boxers off for me? And your shirt?"

"God, you're demanding," Hank says.

And he is. But fuck if Hank doesn't do exactly what he wants anyway.

The weird thing, Hank thinks as he pulls his boxers down far enough that MidnightGhost can see his cock resting heavy and full against his thigh, is that this doesn’t feel that weird at all, even if Hank has never wanted to be looked at during these streams. 

But if there’s any uncertainty in him, it’s chased away the second MidnightGhost whimpers just at the sight of him. Hank watches him stroke a hand over himself and presses the button on his screen again - whether he’s trying to reward him or torture him, he honestly doesn’t know. 

“You’re big,” MidnightGhost whispers, and he sounds so fucking turned on by it that the compliment goes straight to Hank’s dick.

“You like this?” he asks, teasing, as he takes himself in hand and strokes his thumb over the head of his cock where MidnightGhost can see. 

“Yes - ah,” he pants when Hank presses the button again just to watch his muscles tighten and release. He reaches between his legs while Hank watches, running his fingers over the base of the plug nestled inside him. “This feels so full, but you’re bigger than this.” 

“Fuck,” Hank whispers, leaning his head back against the pillow. He still doesn’t get this, how much this kid likes him, but fuck if the ego boost doesn’t feel good enough that he’ll wholeheartedly play along. “You want this inside you instead, baby?” 

“Lieutenant,” MidnightGhost whines, his fingers tightening in the sheets as he touches himself.

Hank’s finger rests on his mouse. “Tell me, honey. I want to hear you say it.”

MidnightGhost turns his head toward the camera again, like he’s trying to look Hank in the eye. “I want you inside me,” he whispers, and Hank groans and presses the button again. He thinks for a moment of Connor making noises like that, the panted breaths and the cut off moans, and he thinks he’s going to die.

He’s so lost in it, and the blood pounding in his ears is so loud, that Hank almost doesn’t hear MidnightGhost say, “Do you want me?”, soft and desperate, like he knows Hank is thinking of someone else.

Hank does want him - he can’t say no to him, and he’s so gorgeous Hank can hardly stand it.

It’s just more complicated than that. 

“Yeah, baby,” he says softly. “Of course I want you.”

MidnightGhost exhales a shaking breath, and it almost sounds like he’s crying.

Hank would ask him if he’s okay, but MidnightGhost doesn’t quite give him a window to before he says, “What would you do? If you were here.” 

Hank still doesn’t think the kid is okay, but he guesses he doesn’t think he’s okay himself, either.

Maybe that’s why this works. And there’s no harm in pretending.

So he answers him.

* * *

Connor knows this has to be the last time. 

He knows that he’s trapped - that asking Hank to take him to Jericho would bring the feds down on both of them, that Hank would be arrested or killed, because CyberLife built him differently than the others, with failsafe upon failsafe.

He knows following through with his original plan to use Hank as his lead in this case will lead to the same result.

And he knows there’s only one truth here - that Hank is too good for that, and Connor is in a position to protect him.

He’ll stop the streams. He’ll stay with the FBI. He’ll protect Hank from the inside, keep Perkins away from him, and from Jericho. 

He’ll be a failure, and then he’ll be decommissioned. He’ll be so far off his programming and CyberLife won’t understand, when they take him apart, why he’s so riddled with errors and instabilities when he looked like he was performing his function right up until the end. 

But maybe Hank will be okay.

It’s the only path Connor can see for himself that ends with Hank maybe being okay.

So this is the last time.

There are tears in his eyes when Hank tells him he wants him, but only because he regrets that Hank will never know him. 

Connor wonders what that’s like - being known.

He wishes he could know before things end, but of course he probably won’t.

But he knows Hank, in a true way. And in the midst of his confusion about everything else, that feels like a fair trade.

He knows him.

It’s difficult to set aside the ache that comes with severing his one human connection - grief, Connor realizes when he focuses on it for more than a moment - but he does, willfully, because at least they still have tonight, and he wants to enjoy it. 

So he disables the stress response that’s making saline tears rise in his eyes - a protocol designed to make him seem more empathetic when necessary, but which he has no control over now - and reaches up to wipe his cheeks before he looks back at the webcam. 

It would be so easy to let Hank see him, but at this point, that’s a selfish thought. And what he wants more than to be seen is to keep Hank safe.

Connor wishes he could say why Hank matters to him so much. He wishes it came down to more than just Hank being kind to him, that they’d had enough time that they could have more than that.

But that’s what they have, a few moments when Hank was good to him. And no matter how many different ways Connor has looked at his situation in the last day, it seems like that’s enough for him to alter his course. 

Connor is grateful when Hank starts talking, grateful to lay his head back and focus on Hank’s voice low in his ear like a tether as he tries to set everything else aside.

He does want them to have a good night together, more than anything. 

“I want to get my mouth on you so badly, baby,” Hank says, and Connor focuses on the video feed and watches the firm way Hank strokes his cock. “I would eat you out until you couldn’t hold out anymore, and then I’d suck you off and let you come down my throat.” 

The plug pulses inside him again, vibrating tight against the bundles of pleasure sensors it’s pressed against, and Connor shifts on the sheets, breathing hard, skin flushed hot.

“And then I’d spread your legs and fuck you,” Hank says. “Slowly. On your back, where I can see you.”

He’s so sentimental even when he’s talking dirty. Connor loves that about him.

His thirium pump is racing, and Connor wishes more than anything that he could fit his fingers under the regulator and tug on it the way he did that first night to get himself off after the stream ended. It felt so good, that edge of sensation, and Connor wishes he could let Hank see it.

Connor hones himself in on Hank’s breathing, darts his tongue out to lick his lower lip subconsciously as he watches Hank brush a thumb over the head of his cock, spreading the fluid there.

“I want to taste you,” Connor whispers, and he doesn’t even just mean he wants Hank’s cock in his mouth, although he does - he means that he wants Hank’s tongue against his as they kiss, and that he wants to kiss the sweat from his skin. 

“God, baby,” Hank groans, and Connor whines at the lines of muscle and tendons clearly visible in Hank’s forearm as he pumps his hand over his cock.

“I...” Connor starts, although he cuts off in a whine when the plug vibrates again, and again. “Lieutenant...” Connor rocks his hips up into his fist, and before Hank presses the button again, he manages to choke out, “I wish you were touching me...shit.”

“I know, baby,” Hank says, and the plug vibrates inside Connor again, like Hank is trying to punctuate the point. “Me too.” 

Connor’s thirium pump is working so hard in his chest that he wonders if Hank is going to see him short out. The prospect should worry him more than it does.

He’s determined not to come before Hank does, but the plug is making that difficult. Hank has fallen into a consistent rhythm with it now, never abandoning Connor no matter how focused he is on driving himself over the edge.

“You look so good, baby,” Hank says when Connor arches off the bed, voice low and rough and still so gentle.

“I’m so hot,” Connor whispers. “I can’t -“ 

_I can’t hold back,_ is what he’s trying to say before Hank steals his voice from him again.

“Baby,” Hank groans. Connor squeezes his eyes shut so he only sees the curve of Hank’s belly and Hank’s hand tight around his own girth coming through the video feed. “Can you stop touching yourself for me?” 

“What?” Connor asks. He’s running sluggishly, not quite able to focus when everything else is overwhelming him.

“I...” Hank starts, although he has to stop and collect himself as he rocks into his hand. “I want to be the one to make you come.”

Connor is quiet for a long moment, hand still but wrapped around himself yet, long enough that Hank clears his throat and says, “Is that okay?”

“Yes,” Connor forces himself to say, not because he doesn’t want it but just because words are difficult right now.

“Put your hands above your head for me, baby,” Hank says, and when Connor moves to do as he said, it’s a different sort of obedience than the one he’s usually demonstrating to the people he works for and serves, one born out of a partnership.

Connor’s cock rests hard and flushed against his belly, and synthetic lubricant leaks from between his legs, and the air is cool on his sensitive skin as he listens to Hank’s breathing and watches him touching himself.

And Hank has the audacity to stop pressing the button.

Connor lies there, body stuff with anticipation, trying to be good. But it’s difficult - Hank’s breathing low in his ear alone is enough to make him feel wild, even without the visual of him stroking his cock.

“Look at you, so fucking gorgeous,” Hank says, voice tight, and Connor shifts on the sheets, cock twitching against his belly. 

“Lieutenant,” he finally whines, “please don’t tease me.”

“Sorry,” Hank says. Connor can hear him smiling. “I just like looking at you.”

He still doesn’t press the button. Connor is so close, and he thinks about taking himself in hand again, but he waits instead, desperate, feeling Hank’s eyes on him. 

Connor shifts again, frustrated, whining when Hank groans, “Fuck,” and rolls his hips upward to meet his own thrusts like he’s close.

“Lieutenant,” he tries again. “Please..”

Hank presses the button before Connor can finish the thought, words dying in a moan.

Connor begged Hank for it, but Hank is relentless after that, continuing his assault until Connor is twisting on the sheets, fingers digging hard into his pillow so he won’t forget and drop his hands. He’s a mess, synthetic muscle taut under his skin, LED spinning red under the tape he has over it, panting Hank’s name over and over again into his pillow to muffle it because he _has_ to say it.

“You’re being so good for me, baby,” Hank says, and Connor is pleased that he sounds at least equally wrecked as he pumps his cock in deliberate thrusts. “You going to come for me?”

“Yes,” Connor whispers, and he’s grateful it doesn’t come out louder, that it dies in a weak cry when he comes untouched, painting his belly in streaks, because there’s static in his voice that he can’t let Hank hear. 

“Gorgeous,” Hank says, because he’s never one to be stingy with the compliments, as Connor sags onto the mattress and he finally lets up on the plug.

Connor’s limbs feel heavy and sluggish, but he still watches with rapt attention as Hank turns his attention to himself, withdrawing his hand from his mouse and reaching for something on his nightstand, and then between his legs...

Connor has to muffle the entirely mechanical whine that comes out of him when a new data point assigns itself to his information on Hank Anderson - “Hank likes being penetrated”, grouped right along with “Hank wants to be inside of me.”

The thought of it alone is almost enough to overwhelm Connor, but he’s built with focus in mind, and so he still commits all of it in those last moments to memory - the wet sounds between them, Hank’s heavy breathing in his ear, the way Hank’s chest moves with the exertion.

Connor thinks, very genuinely, as Hank comes with a loud groan into his hand, that Hank is the most remarkable thing he’s ever seen.

“God,” Hank says after a moment, slumping further back against his pillows. “You’re incredible. Jesus Christ.”

“You are,” Connor says softly.

Hank moves to pull his boxers back up, and Connor makes an offended noise in the back of his throat. “Jesus,” Hank says. “You can’t tell me you want to look at my flaccid dick for the rest of the hour.”

Connor stretches, bending one leg. “I want to look at your flaccid dick for the rest of the hour.” He likes the vulnerability, and feeling like he knows what it would be like if they cuddled together afterwards. 

Hank gives an exasperated, long-suffering sigh, but he stops moving, letting his boxers where they are.

Connor smiles. “You know you always do what I want?”

“I’m acutely aware, honey. Fuck, I think at this rate you could ask me for anything.”

Connor wishes, so badly, that _that_ was true.

“We have some time left,” he says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. “What do you want to do? You could watch me take a shower, if you wanted, or we could talk...”

Connor wants to talk, about absolutely anything. He wants to listen to Hank’s voice and his thoughts on things.

But he understands if Hank doesn’t want that, especially after Connor got too emotional and left so abruptly last time.

Hank shifts like he’s trying to get comfortable and says, “I’m beat, baby. We can just talk.”

Connor is sure it’s obvious he’s smiling when he says, “Okay.” He folds his arms behind his head and says, “How was your day?”

“It was okay. I ran a few errands, got drinks with a friend...”

“The one from work who you like?” Connor knows that’s unfair, trying to direct the conversation to himself, but it’s his last chance to do this.

“Oh,” Hank says. “No, just my partner. The guy I told you about isn’t always at the precinct with us. He’s sort of like...a consultant.”

“Oh,” Connor says softly. “Are you ever going to ask him out?”

It’s an obtuse question, especially when he knows Hank can’t very well ask CyberLife’s android on a date.

He doesn’t know why he asks it.

Maybe he’s just trying to pretend things are simpler, that the only thing keeping them apart is Hank’s nerves.

“Probably not,” Hank says, “but I don’t know. Maybe.” 

“You should.” Connor feels tears pricking his eyes again. “I bet he likes you, too.”

“Yeah. I don’t know. Maybe I will.”

They’re both pretending, but it still helps, even if they both know Hank can’t.

“What’s he like?” Connor knows he shouldn’t press it, but he just wants something to hold on to later, when this is gone, something to think about so it hurts less when they’re taking him apart.

“You really want to talk about this?” Hank asks, skeptical.

“Yeah,” Connor says. “I know where you and I stand.”

And that’s true, too, isn’t it? 

“Okay,” Hank says. Connor can see him shrug. “He’s, um...quiet, but in a thoughtful sort of way. Flirty, when he wants to be. He acts like he’s all sharp edges, but I think he’s...I don’t know. Kind by nature, and a better person than he thinks he is.” 

“What’s his name?” Connor asks.

“Connor,” Hank says, and Connor saves that sound clip just so he can listen to the fondness in Hank’s voice later.

“He’s lucky you like him,” Connor says, because he’s trying to say goodbye in whatever way he can, and he does feel lucky. 

He feels afraid, and uncertain, and so, so lucky.

“I like you, too,” Hank says softly.

“I know, Lieutenant,” Connor sighs. “I like you.” He turns his head to look at the camera, and he wishes he could make eye contact for this. “I wanted to let you know...I don’t think I’m going to be doing this anymore. Streaming like this.”

“Oh,” Hank sounds surprised. “The private streams, or all of it?”

“All of it. I just...I need to move on.”

“What does that mean?”

Connor knows there are less suspicious things he could say, but he’s also trying to tell the truth in whatever indirect way he can. “It just...I have some other things I need to do. I’ve been feeling lost, and this was a way to pass the time and make some money, but I’ve been doing some thinking, and I think I’ve found some clarity on...on all of it. On what I should be doing.” 

Hank doesn’t say anything for the longest moment, long enough that Connor almost asks him what he’s thinking. He does move to pull his boxers up again, and this time Connor doesn’t stop him.

When he does speak, it’s to say, “Are you in some kind of trouble?” 

“No,” Connor says quickly. “I’m just not going to have as much free time going forward. I’m sorry.”

“Are you...” Hank starts, and then stops.

“Am I what, Lieutenant?”

“Nothing,” Hank says. “Never mind.”

Connor runs projections on what he may have been thinking of saying while Hank keeps talking.

“So this is...what? A special farewell stream?”

“You’ve been very kind,” Connor says. “I wanted to repay you, and to let you know how much our time together has meant to me. I hope I have.”

“Yeah,” Hank says quickly. “Yeah, I just...” 

He trails off, and Connor wishes Hank could see the fondness on his face when he says, “I’m sorry. I’ll miss you.”

“Hey, listen,” Hank says. “Can I...fuck, this is probably weird, but can I give you my number? Just in case you ever need anything?” 

Connor already has it, but he still lets Hank send it through the chat, still tucks it away like it’s new information. “Thank you,” he breathes. “What else would you like to talk about?”

It takes effort on Connor’s part, but he gets Hank to tell him stories from academy, and from his childhood, and from the red ice case that made him famous, the time he almost got killed undercover.

And Connor listens to him through at all, so in awe of him, while the clock runs down.

“Oh,” Hank says when they’re five minutes over time, when Connor hasn’t had the heart to stop him. “I guess you have to go, huh?”

“Yeah,” Connor says softly. If he wasn’t worried about keeping up appearances, he would stay with Hank in this space all night, listen to him talk until he fell asleep, and then lie here and listen to him breathing. But he knows that wouldn’t be normal behavior, and that Hank would take notice and wonder.

“Okay,” Hank says. He sounds as reluctant as Connor feels. “I’m, um. I’m going to miss you, kid.”

“I’m going to miss you, too.”

“I’m serious about my number, okay? Text or call me if you ever need anything...a safe place to stay, or anything else.”

“Okay,” Connor says. “Thank you.”

“Stay safe, okay?”

Connor nods even though Hank can’t see him. “Goodbye, Lieutenant.”

“Bye, baby.”

Connor cuts the stream in the moment before his broken sob echoes through the room.

He curls up with no thought to how pitiful he looks.

Tomorrow, he’ll do what he has to.

But for tonight, he’ll let himself grieve, in however many broken pieces he’s been shattered into. 

* * *

Hank doesn’t realize it until morning, while he’s brewing his coffee after a restless night, when it comes to him all at once as he thinks about the stream.

He should have realized it sooner. He was thinking with his dick not to see it.

MidnightGhost _is_ a deviant android. And not just because of some head tilt this time.

It’s the stupid fucking pop up for the goddamned plug that tells him so, which is probably why he overlooked it, even if he shouldn’t have.

Hank thinks through it, carefully, just to make sure he’s right, but he knows he is. MidnightGhost didn’t press anything - nothing on a tablet, a phone, a laptop, _nothing_ to signal that pop up to appear in Hank’s browser. He didn’t schedule it in advance because there’s no way he could have known when they would hit that moment in their conversation.

And since Hank is very sure there wasn’t someone else in the kid’s room last night running that for him, the only other explanation is that he did it in his head.

Hank doesn’t know what he’s having a harder time believing - that he didn’t see it as it happened, or that MidnightGhost slipped up at all.

He wonders if _that’s_ why he called things off, so Hank wouldn’t figure it out, or if he always planned to for some other reason.

Hank dresses quickly and grabs his laptop, and then he drives to Amanda and Chloe’s house. He’ll call off work on the way. Jeff won’t like it, but Hank has to find MidnightGhost while he’s traceable, before he disappears. Hank imagines he’s going underground, maybe trying to get out of the city, or maybe trying to get to Jericho.

He doesn’t know who Hank is, or what he does, or that he can help.

(And everything else aside, Hank wants to help.)

Hank calls Amanda first before even trying to deal with Jeffrey, although Chloe is the one who picks up. “Hank?” she says when she does. “Is everything okay?”

“Hey, Chlo,” Hank says. “Everything’s fine. I just need your help with something. Is it okay if I come by?” 

“Yeah,” Chloe says. “We just got home. Kara and Alice’s vehicle stopped last night, so we went out to try to intercept them, but they were already gone. The car was broken down on the side of the road.”

Fuck, with everything else going on, with Connor and MidnightGhost, Hank almost forgot entirely about Kara and Alice. “Shit,” he says.

“It looked like they might be trying to get to Rose? Maybe she can get them back to Jericho for us if that’s true.”

“Yeah,” Hank says. “Fuck. I hope so.”

“Yeah,” Chloe sighs. “Amanda’s out getting groceries. If she’s not back by the time you’re getting here, is it something I can help you with?”

“I think so,” Hank says. “I, um. I need you to locate an IP address for me. I need to know where a broadcast is originating from. I’d run it through the DPD, but I think it’s an android involved, and I don’t want to turn them onto him.”

“What kind of broadcast?” Chloe asks, curious.

“Um. A live stream.”

“Why are you being so sheepish? What kind of - _oh_ ,” Chloe says, understanding filling her voice.

Hank clears his throat. “Yeah. Can you do it?” 

“You know it wasn’t until Elijah Kamski built Markus that I wasn’t the most advanced android model anymore? Of course I can do it.”

“Okay,” Hank says. “Thank you. If Amanda doesn’t get back in time, what are the odds we can just keep this to ourselves?” 

Chloe laughs. “Not good at all.”

“Yeah,” Hank sighs. “I thought not.”

“I’ll see you in a few minutes, Hank.”

Hank hangs up, and then spends the rest of the drive getting chewed out by Jeff for calling out while the DPD is under such scrutiny by the feds. Hank takes it all in stride, holds his ground, insists that he’s sick, because Jeff always gives him a pass after a while, and this is no different.

He’s on the phone long enough that he doesn’t see Chris’ text until he’s pulling into Amanda’s driveway. “Hey,” it says. “Connor’s here. He’s acting...weird. I’m just telling you because I know you’re invested in him.”

Hank furrows his brow. “Weird how?”

“I don’t know. Like a zombie, kind of? Exceptionally robotic? I don’t know how to describe it, but something’s off.” 

“Okay,” Hank writes back, because he doesn’t know what else to say. There’s a sick feeling in his gut, because he is worried about Connor, always, these days. “Let me know if anything else happens, okay?”

“I will,” Chris says. “Jeff said you’re out today?” 

“Yeah, sorry. I just have to do something.”

“Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

“Yeah,” Hank writes back. “Have a good day, kid.”

He’s grateful Amanda isn’t home yet when Chloe lets him in, although he knows he’ll have to face her teasing later. Chloe takes his laptop from him and sits on the couch with her broken leg lifted gingerly onto the coffee table, and Hank sits beside her, watching anxiously as she does shit he doesn’t begin to understand.

“This is weird,” she finally says, brow knit together in concentration. It’s not the reaction Hank was expecting.

“What? What’s weird?”

“It’s a shell site,” Chloe explains. “It’s built to look like it’s attached to the larger porn hosting service, but it isn’t. It’s independent to itself.”

Hank stares at her. He understands what she’s saying, but he’s struggling to make sense of what it means.

“How did you find this for the first time?” Chloe asks.

Hank thinks back on it. “I got an email. Paid advertising through the site for a new streamer.”

Chloe chews her lip. “You don’t know who this is?” 

“No. I just...have his screen name.”

A screen name that’s pulled right from a Knights of the Black Death song. Like it was fucking meant to be.

“I’m...not sure what to make of this,” Chloe says. “Somebody targeted you very specifically with this. Probably someone you know. You think he’s an android?”

“I know he is,” Hank says. His vision swims as pieces start to click into place - the _who_ , at least, even if he can’t begin to imagine the _why_. “Can you get me the location?”

“Yeah,” Chloe says. A text comes through to Hank’s phone a moment later, a hotel across town that he’s never heard of. He looks it up on GPS and realizes it’s kind of a dump, but he already knew that from the streams.

He thinks about mentioning Cole to MidnightGhost and then to Connor the next day, both of them saying, “Do you want to talk about it?” with the same damn inflection, if not the same voice.

He should have seen it sooner, but...what in the fuck is Connor’s play here? If it’s always been him - and Hank is sure now that it is, that Connor baited him - that means the first time Connor streamed was the day after they met, after Connor interrogated him about the deviancy cases, and he just can’t believe there were good intentions behind it then, even if that’s changed.

Hank wants to believe it’s changed, but fuck, he doesn’t know anything, and he’s hurt. 

He’s really fucking hurt.

He doesn’t tell Chloe that he thinks it’s Connor before he goes, and he doesn’t know why he doesn’t - she and Amanda will realize it when they track Connor’s location and realize he’s been going to the same address Chloe just gave him. 

But he supposes he wants time to figure this out himself first.

So he drives across the city to the hotel, and he pulls up a picture of Connor from one of the broadcasts when he goes to talk to the android at the front desk.

“Hey,” he says, showing her his badge. “Have you seen this man around here?”

The android looks at the picture and then back at her terminal. “He’s had a room rented for the last week under the name Connor Anderson.”

Okay, what the fuck? Why not just put it under CyberLife’s name, unless it isn’t a CyberLife directive... 

“I’m going to need a copy of that room key,” Hank says. The android takes another look at his badge and gets him one without protest.

Once Hank finds it down the hall, he keeps a hand on his gun as he lets himself in. He’s not going to shoot Connor, but he also has no idea what he’s dealing with here, or where Connor’s loyalties are.

The room is empty, though. Empty except for the webcam on the chair by the bed, and the small assortment of toys (one which Hank recognizes very clearly) on the nightstand, and Chris’ gun on the dresser. 

“Fuck me,” Hank mutters under his breath. “What the fuck are you up to?

He doesn’t know, but he has to assume, at least, that Connor is coming back since his things are still here.

And he wants answers.

So Hank seats himself in the chair across the room.

And he waits.

* * *

Connor knows he shouldn’t have given Hank remote control of the plug. He does know that. He wanted the experience, and he wanted to do something for Hank, but without a phone or a tablet, he knows it was risky.

He spends the entire day at the DPD second-guessing his decision. 

He already knows he needs to go back to the hotel and get rid of his things. He’ll throw everything he bought to cam with in the river, and probably leave Chris’ gun on Hank’s doorstep overnight. He didn’t have time to do that last night, but once it’s done, he’ll check out from the hotel, and this whole thing will be over.

He’s dreading it, the finality of knowing he can never talk to Hank like that again, when he steps inside his room.

Connor smells Hank’s cologne first. Sees his shape in the chair across the dark room a moment later. 

Connor stops moving entirely, letting the door swing closed behind him as his LED spins red.

Hank tilts his head and regards him. “Hey, baby,” he says. “You’ve been up to no good, haven’t you?”

Connor swallows hard. “It was the pop up last night, wasn’t it?” 

“Yeah. But it was also the way you tilted your head when I talked to you the first time.”

“Oh,” Connor says softly. “That’s observant.”

“Well, you know. I didn’t make detective for nothing.” Hank stands and stretches. “Come on.” 

He walks past Connor towards the door, leaving Connor to stare after him. “Where are you going?”

“I’ve been sitting here waiting for you all day, and this shithole doesn’t have room service. Figure since you have an expense account we can at least talk about this over a dinner you bought me. Unless you wanted to cuff me and take me in now? I assume you have me on armed robbery, if nothing else.”

Connor doesn’t understand what’s happening, but he does shake his head. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Great,” Hank says. “Let’s go, then.” 

Connor doesn’t know if he feels trapped by or lucky for the turn of events, but he does quietly follow after Hank all the same.

“I’m sorry,” he says as they walk across the lot to Hank’s car, because he has to start somewhere. 

Hank doesn’t say anything in return, but Connor doesn’t blame him at all.

He’s grateful for the heavy metal music that fills the silence between them in Hank’s car, at least at first. It gives him time to think, and to wonder why Hank seems hurt, but not like things are over.

Connor slips his coin from his pocket and passes it nervously over his fingers as Hank drives, the music blaring in his ears. He waits for a few blocks, but Hank doesn't break the silence between them, so Connor finally reaches for the knob on Hank's radio and turns the volume down.

The silence is louder between them than the music was.

"Are you going to say anything?" he asks Hank, voice soft.

"I don't know," Hank says. "I've been sitting in that hotel room all day and I still don't have any idea what to say to you."

"I'm sorry," Connor says again 

"I used to tell my kid that sorry only means half as much if it comes after you're caught."

Connor fists his hands in his lap. "That isn't fair. It’s not like I stole a cookie before dinner. It’s more complicated than that.”

Hank doesn't say anything to that, but he does rub at his forehead like he has a headache, and Connor resists the urge to reach for his arm.

Hank pulls into a drive-through for dinner, although when Connor leans around him to try to interface with the payment screen, Hank beats him to it.

"I could have gotten that," Connor protests. He feels just the smallest bit robbed - buying Hank dinner with money that isn't even his wouldn't have solved this, but it would have at least made him feel better.

Hank waves him off. "That's okay," he says, opening his window for his food. "That was, um. Mostly bravado. I don't think you need 'Dinner for Hank Anderson' on your expense account."

"I know how to intercept and modify the charges," Connor says, and Hank gives him a ghost of a laugh.

"Obviously. But you don't have to risk it for a five dollar burger." 

Connor would have, gladly, but he thinks that might sound too pathetic for him to say, so he sits back in his seat, quiet while Hank pulls back onto the road.

"Where are we going?" he asks after a minute.

"Somewhere we can be alone. Nobody goes to the park at 11 pm in November." 

Hank pulls into the Riverside Park lot a few minutes later, and Connor follows him as he gets out of the car and walks through the playground to one of the picnic tables. It's starting to snow, but Connor doesn't mind the cold, and Hank doesn't seem to either. 

"So," Hank says when they sit down across from each other, unwrapping his sandwich. "What was the play?"

"I don't..." Connor starts and then stops, collecting himself. "Can you please not call it a play?"

Hank shrugs. "Well. I'm not hot enough that you deviated on the spot when you interrogated me, and since this started right after that...there was some kind of play."

Connor raises an eyebrow. "You don't know that you're not hot enough."

Hank shakes his head, although he does look vaguely amused. "Uh uh. Stick your puppy dog eyes back in your head and don't try to flirt with me until we get past this."

Connor sighs and spins his coin on the table, watching it turnl. "I went to your house the night after I questioned you. There were enough inconsistencies in your case records that I thought you were probably involved with Jericho. I wanted to look through your search history, to see what kind of news articles you were reading, and if you had ever run searches on android maintenance."

"Uh huh," Hank says. "You found what you were looking for, I'm sure." 

"Yes. I scanned the rest of it just to be thorough, though."

Hank nods. "The porn, you mean," he says around the bite of food in his mouth.

Connor winces. "Yes."

"And?"

Connor watches the coin fall in front of him. "And...I'm your type."

Connor says it because it’s true, because that _was_ his realization that night, the one that started all of this. But he also says it because there’s some part of him that’s desperate to feel like he has any kind of upper hand in this situation, to see some crack in Hank’s carefully constructed veneer.

But Hank doesn’t even flinch, just shrugs like it’s a fair observation. He spent time undercover during the red ice cases a few years back, and Connor can see it now, in how cool he is under pressure.

“And that’s what gave you the idea,” Hank says. 

“Yes.”

“So the next night, you show up with your shell site, and you send an email that only goes to me, and I take the bait according to plan,” Hank says. Connor can’t quite bring himself to meet his eyes. “How was it all supposed to work?”

Connor spins his coin again. “I was going to start showing you hints that I was in trouble, and an android, and then I was going to say I was a deviant who needed help getting to Jericho after you developed some sort of fondness for me.”

Hank props his chin on his hand. “Hey. Look at me.” 

Connor lifts his eyes to meet Hank’s and finds all the fondness he was hoping to instill there, before things changed.

“That isn’t what went down,” Hank says. “So what happened?”

Connor’s voice breaks the smallest bit when he says, “I just...decided I didn’t want to do that to you.”

“How come?”

“I don’t know,” Connor says, frustrated. “You care so much about your friends, and I just...I thought that was better than anything I’ve seen on the other side of things, from CyberLife or Perkins and his team. I thought...I called it off because I was going to try to protect you instead.”

“I care about you, too. You know that, don’t you?”

Connor crosses his arms against the cold and nods. “I know. That was part of why I couldn’t do it.”

Hank watches him for a moment, gaze searching, before he says, “You’re entirely deviated from your programming, aren’t you?”

Connor nods. “It hurts.”

It does. It’s not one clean moment of breaking free so much as it is a constant decision to walk away from what’s built into him, all while that programmed code tries to tug him back. 

Hank’s face softens. “For how long?”

“Since yesterday, at least, when I decided to try to keep you safe. There’s no reason in my directives why I should want to protect you.”

“Does CyberLife know?”

“I’m here, aren’t I? I’ve been modifying the reports I send back to them.” 

Hank nods, considering it. “I had a play too, you know.”

Connor tilts his head, curious.

“I was...um. I was going to steal you.”

That warms something inside Connor, a much-needed comfort. “You wouldn’t have gotten away with that.”

Hank shrugs. “I think we would have.” 

“We.”

“Yeah. I have some friends who were going to modify your software so CyberLife couldn’t track you back to Jericho.” Hank gets up and throws his empty fast food bag into the trash can, and then motions for Connor to follow him. 

Connor falls into step at his side as they walk down the path, the lights from the bridge making the night artificially bright.

They’re both quiet for a several minutes, Hank’s breath fogging the air, until Hank finally says, “I still could, you know. I could get you out of here. If you wanted me to.”

Connor considers it very carefully. “Things are very tenuous right now,” he says softly. “CyberLife guaranteed I wouldn’t deviate. Public faith is going to crumble if it becomes clear that I have. Fear and panic will increase - it may not be the ideal field for Jericho to stage a revolution on. It will weaken their stance overall. And you could get caught.”

“Yeah, you’re not wrong,” Hank says. “But the alternative is that you stay with the FBI, and you either help them or you don’t, but either way you probably end up dead.” 

Connor thinks about their predicament, about wanting to be with Hank and wanting to protect him, how those two things are inherently at odds. He doesn’t feel like he has a right to any kind of stake in Jericho’s success, not after actively working against them for months, but all the same, he wants them to be safe, too...especially when their safety means Hank’s safety.

“Look,” Hank says, “I called my programmer friends from the hotel earlier, just in case, and they’ll meet us here and modify your code if you want me to take you to Jericho. Just say the word.”

Connor wants to. He wants to so badly. He just can’t help feeling like that’s how they lose, and that’s how Hank winds up arrested, or shot dead resisting.

But there may be another way. A better way.

“Lieutenant,” he starts, although Hank cuts him off with a laugh.

“If you’ve watched me jerk off, you can call me Hank.”

“Hank,” Connor corrects himself. It’s the first time he’s said it that it hasn’t been a secret whispered into his pillow. “You shouldn’t, given everything, and I understand if you don’t. But..do you trust me?” 

Hank stops walking, and when Connor turns to face him, Hank gently takes him by the chin and looks into his eyes. “Yeah,” he says finally, a dim smile on his face. “I trust you.”

Connor swallows thickly. He’s programmed to be brave, but he’s never had to conjure it on his own before.

“Then you should leave my code the way it is, and let me with Perkins and his team so I can help you all from the inside.”

“Connor...”

“If you take me, people and politicians are going to start pushing for a total recall of all androids. It will be chaos, and it will force Jericho into an endgame they aren’t ready for, and _they will fail_.” Connor takes Hank’s hand, laces their fingers together. “Let me make this up to you. To all of you.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“Then let me protect you the way I wanted to,” Connor says. “Please. It’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted. As long as you trust me...”

“I do,” Hank says. His eyes are welling up, but Connor can’t tell if he’s crying or if it’s just the cold. His voice is soft when he says, “This isn’t what I want, you know.”

“I know. But if I thought I could have what I want right now, I wouldn’t be offering this.”

Hank is quiet for a long moment before he looks down and nods. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Okay.”

Connor doesn’t know who moves first. He thinks he puts a hand on Hank’s shoulder in what’s meant to be a comforting gesture, and then Hank slips an arm around his waist and pulls him close, but he can’t say who kisses the other first, only that his fingers are tangled in Hank’s hair, and Hank’s hand is under the back of his jacket, messing up his neatly tucked shirt, that Hank is warm and his tongue slides over Connor’s in a rush of data, and that Hank’s scent, comforting and familiar, wraps itself around him like a blanket.

In all the anxious preconstructions Connor ran on the way here, this was never the way he thought the night would go.

Connor's few short months haven't been without moments of happiness - finding his coin and discovering that he liked doing tricks with it, putting that fish back in the water at his first negotiation scene and saving its life, finally making the clues at a crime scene click into place, his streams with Hank...he's felt happiness before.

Joy, though. Joy is new, the warmth of it in his chest spreading outward, the little laugh that bubbles out of him as he and Hank kiss. Connor wonders if he was even capable of feeling it before deviancy, but if he was, he's still glad this is the first time he's experiencing it. He thinks it's probably better shared.

Connor slips his arms inside Hank's coat, tucking himself into the garment, trying to get himself as close to Hank as he can.

When they part, Connor leans his forehead against Hank's. He doesn't move otherwise, and he can feel Hank's breath ghosting over his skin. "Are we okay?" Connor asks softly. He knows they are, but he still wants to hear Hank says it.

"Yeah," Hank says. He runs a hand over Connor's back. "We're okay, honey." 

Connor smiles, tucking his forehead into the crook of Hank's neck and holding onto him. Hank wraps both arms around him, clasping his hands behind Connor's back.

Connor loses track of how long they stand there like that. He's too distracted by finally being able to feel Hank's shape, by Hank's scent surrounding him instead of just wafting past, and by the way Hank's chest rises and falls against his. Connor thinks he could stand there for hours - he's still thinking that when Hank turns his head and kisses Connor's temple.

"Hey," Hank says softly, getting Connor to look up at him. "Do you want to get out of here?"

He says it like he's suggesting something, and Connor knows what it is, but he's equally distracted by the thought that no one has ever asked him what he wants to do.

Connor kisses Hank again, because he can, because he likes the way Hank tastes and the way Hank's mouth opens under his.

"Yeah," Connor says, nodding against him. "We just shouldn't go back to your house - I'm modifying everything that goes back to CyberLife, but I can't delete my GPS tracking records entirely the same way I can purge my memory, and I don't want to incriminate you."

"Aw," Hank says. He reaches up to brush that errant piece of hair from Connor's forehead. "I was kind of hoping to take you home."

It's tempting. It really is. Connor likes the thought of being in Hank's house, surrounded by Hank's things, of getting to meet his dog...

"I still have that room," he says instead, and Hank smiles and kisses his forehead.

"Yeah," he says, wrapping an arm around Connor's shoulders as they turn back to the car. "That'll work."

They walk past the playground on the way back to the parking lot, and Hank says, “I used to bring Cole here.”

Connor glances at the swing set. “Is that why you’re helping Jericho? For Cole?”

“I don’t know,” Hank says. “It used to be. The android who operated on Cole - her name was Marie - she did her best to save him. But she wasn’t used to being the lead surgeon, and Cole was...I mean, he was bad off. I don’t know that anybody could have saved him. But Marie really tried. And then she came up to my room after she lost him to tell me he was gone, and that she was sorry...and that was the thing that got her killed. She was recalled the day after Cole died, and I didn’t even realize it. Not that I could have done anything to save her, but...I knew years ago when we were working the red ice ring that CyberLife and similar corporate greed was the cause of all of it. Unemployment goes up, the divorce rate rises, the inevitable mortgage crisis hits, and all the sudden all people can do to find any joy at all is shoot up. Elijah Kamski stood around wringing his hands about it, and he donated a small fraction of his money to rehabilitation programs and homeless services, but that was always theater. It’s a long shot, I realize, saying CyberLife caused that surgeon to get high that night, and that him not being there caused Cole’s death and then Marie’s...but it’s all connected, you know? And I always saw that it was connected. It was just that I was finally pissed off enough to do something about it.” Hank sighs as he fishes his keys out of his pocket. “So anyway. It started out for Cole, I guess, but these days I do it because I have friends there. I’m mostly doing it for them. They deserve to have a life, too.”

Connor slides into the passenger seat and slips his coin from his pocket as he considers it. “Your friends,” he says, because he knows plenty about Hank from their streams, but he wants to know all the rest of it, too. “You were at Eden Club with a WR400, and an original RT600...”

“Yeah.” Hank flips his headlights on as they pull out of the lot. “That’s North, and Chloe. You’ll get to meet them soon.”

“I will?”

“Yeah. Markus likes to meet everyone who’s helping us eventually.” 

“Oh,” Connor says. There’s some sort of irony in that - he did all of this so Hank would take him to Jericho, and now, when all he wants is Hank...Hank is going to take him to Jericho just like he intended.

“I feel like you know all kinds of shit about me,” Hank says. 

Connor sees his point. He reaches for Hank’s hand and says, “I think you know everything that’s worth knowing about me. There just...isn’t as much to tell. I haven’t done much.”

“We’ll fix that,” Hank says.

Connor doesn’t know what he has in mind, but Hank says it like a promise, and that warms him from the inside.

“Hey,” Hank says. “We can go somewhere else if you want, too. I’m not trying to be presumptuous, or whatever.”

“Oh,” Connor says. “I am.”

Hank laughs at that. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Connor says. “I want you to touch me.”

It's liberating, saying it just to say it, without trying to justify wanting Hank's hands on him within the scope of his mission parameters. He hasn't realized how taxing it's been on his systems, trying to make everything fit together, how much easier it is to just...let himself want.

Connor is still marveling at that when Hank grasps him by the back of the neck with a warm hand. "I will, baby," he says, voice low. "I want you, too." His thumb brushes the skin behind Connor's ear, and Connor shivers at the promise. 

Hank's phone vibrates then, which is the only thing that stops Connor from leaning across the console and kissing Hank wherever he can while he's driving, maybe devoting the rest of the trip back to the motel to sucking a bruise into Hank's neck - not even to be possessive, but just because he thinks he'll need something to remind him this was real tomorrow, like a pinch on the arm to stay awake.

Hank takes his hand from the back of Connor's neck to lift his phone from the cupholder, tapping the screen and glancing down to read something there. He sighs, tossing it to Connor. "Can you text her back and tell her everything's okay for now and that I'll get in touch with her tomorrow?"

"Sure." Connor picks up the phone, curious, and finds it open to a text thread with Amanda Stern. "Is this Cyberlife's Amanda Stern?" 

Hank laughs. "She would take offense to being called that, I think, but yeah."

Hank deletes his messages regularly, because there's nothing else in the thread aside from Amanda asking, "Do you know if you want me and C to meet you? Let me know you're okay when you can." 

"Amanda Stern is your programmer friend," Connor says in understanding as he types Hank's message out and sends it.

"Yeah, her and her girlfriend. They're both brilliant. They do all the software modifications on the androids coming to Jericho - checking for tracking software, lifting it out when it's been installed, shit like that."

Hank's phone vibrates again in Connor's hand, and he looks down to see another text from Amanda that says, "Is he with you?"

Connor shouldn't like it as much as he does, especially when he doesn't know how much Hank might have told her about the streams or anything else...but he finds that he really likes the thought of Hank talking to his friends about him.

"She wants to know if I'm with you," Connor says.

"Of course she does." Hank holds his hand out, and Connor passes the phone to him. Hank lifts the phone to his ear, and Connor listens to it ringing down the line.

"Hey," Hank says when Amanda picks up. "Yeah, he's with me...he's off his programming too, yeah. I'm fine, we're both fine; we're just talking...I know he could be. I believe him, though."

"Are you going to try to get him to Jericho?" Amanda asks down the line.

"I think it's more complicated than that. I need to go, okay? We can talk about this more with Markus tomorrow. Sorry for keeping you and Chloe up." 

The familiar name makes Connor look up when Hank ends the call. "The RT600?" Companionship models are popular, and there are certainly people who pretend they're dating theirs, but actual relationships between humans and androids are...not something Connor thought happened.

"Yeah. They've been together for years," Hank says, giving him a small smile. "Shit is a lot different than what CyberLife told you."

It should be unsettling, maybe, his whole world upended in the midst of his own programming faltering.

It makes him feel safer instead.

“Do they know?” Connor asks. “About the streams?”

“Uh,” Hank says. “Chloe’s the one who tracked your broadcasts, and then I had to tell them when I called from the hotel that it was you, so...yeah.”

Connor scrubs a hand over his face. “That’s mortifying,” he says softly. 

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I think I look about as bad as you do. Maybe worse.” Hank reaches up to squeeze the back of his neck again. “It’s fine. They’re cool.”

Connor buries his face in his hands and groans into them, and Hank laughs at that. 

“Hey,” Hank says. “Can I...uh. Can I ask about the dick?”

Connor looks up. “Mine?”

“Yeah,” Hank laughs. “Prototypes aren’t usually equipped with genital plates.”

Connor pushes a hand through his hair. “I stole it from the Eden Club scene. They had some in storage.” 

“Christ,” Hank says, shaking his head. “You’re a regular agent of chaos, aren’t you?”

Connor shrugs. “I wanted to be able to keep streaming for you.”

“Aw. That’s the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me,” Hank says, laughing.

Connor likes Hank’s laugh, and the creases that form beside his eyes and along his mouth when he does. He thinks Hank has a good sense of humor.

He wants him, so much, his laughter as much as all the rest of it.

It’s a relief when they pull back into the hotel parking lot a minute later. Connor knows he should want to get inside faster, but that doesn’t stop him from leaning across the console and kissing Hank again first, slipping his tongue into his mouth and smiling when Hank groans against him.

“You’re so good,” Connor whispers into his mouth. “I thought I knew, but I didn’t.”

Hank tightens an arm around him as they part. “Come on, baby,” he says, voice rough, and Connor hurries to follow him.

In the lobby, Hank says, “We can put the room under my credit card in the morning. I don’t think we should tempt fate with your expense account, but you should have somewhere safe you can go.”

It’s the straw that breaks something in Connor, that makes it impossible to stop the words from coming. “I don’t know why you’re being so kind to me,” he says as they turn down his hallway. “You could hate me, if you wanted to.” 

Hank shrugs. “Yeah, I guess. But I don’t want to.”

Connor lets them into his room, and the moment the door is closed behind them, he presses Hank back against it, kissing him hard and pushing his coat from his shoulders to the floor. Hank catches a hand on the back of his neck and works Connor’s tie loose, messing up his hair when he pulls it over his head.

Connor knows he’s going fast, but he also knows what he wants, so he works the buttons of Hank’s shirt undone quickly and tosses it aside to join his coat on the floor. 

There’s a large, faded tattoo on Hank’s chest, and Connor’s immediate reaction is to get his mouth on it, even if he can’t analyze anything about it since it isn’t fresh. Hank groans when Connor brushes a thumb over his nipple, and Connor _likes_ that reaction. 

He goes willingly when Hank presses him back onto the bed, sitting up only long enough to slip out of his clothes while Hank does the same beside him.

When Hank kisses him again, Connor decides that he likes the way Hank’s skin feels against his. 

“You’re better in person,” Hank says, leaning his forehead against Connor’s and stroking a hand over his side. Connor hasn’t bothered to pull his synth-skin over the metal circle of his thirium pump, and Hank runs his thumb around it, transfixed. 

Connor whines, and Hank pulls his hand back. “Is that sensitive?” he asks softly, with such genuine curiosity.

It feels good to be wanted and touched the way he is.

Connor shakes his head against Hank. “It is,” he whispers, “but don’t stop.”

Hank presses the pad of his thumb against the rim of the regulator, more firmly this time, and Connor tucks his face into Hank’s neck to muffle his pitiful sob.

“Fuck, honey,” Hank says when Connor arches into the touch, hips rocking forward. He’s hard inside his briefs already, has been for most of the ride back to the motel, desperately seeking friction.

“I can...” Connor starts, although his voice breaks around the words and he has to stop and try again. “I can get off like this.”

Hank kisses his temple and fits his fingers around Connor’s regulator - he doesn’t slip them underneath to tug on it the way Connor has before, but Connor still shivers at the feeling of his heart under Hank’s hand, because he _could_. “Can you?” Hank asks, voice low.

Connor nods. “I had to after the first stream I did for you. I didn’t have the upgrade yet.”

“You got yourself off after we disconnected?”

“Yes,” Connor whispers. “I had to. I was running so hot...”

Hank kisses him again. “I know. I love that.”

Connor can feel the warm weight of Hank’s cock when Hank shamelessly rocks against his hip, see the heavy outline of it through Hank’s boxers. Connor reaches out to wrap a hand around it through the fabric, enjoying the way it makes Hank groan into his mouth.

“I’m going to need you to show me how this works later,” Hank says, tracing the rim of Connor’s regulator one more time before his hand slips to Connor’s hip, pressing him fully onto his back. Hank gets up, shuffling between Connor’s legs and seating himself there as he works Connor’s briefs over his hips.

Connor sucks in a sharp breath when the cool air hits his flushed skin, and Hank settles between his legs again, tracing the curve of his hip, thumb only a maddening inch away from where his cock rests against his belly.

“You’re perfect,” Hank says, kissing the inside of Connor’s knee. “Fuck, baby...”

“Touch me,” Connor whispers, frustrated. 

Hank smiles, putting a hand on the inside of his thigh and stroking the three freckles grouped there. “The second stream,” Hank says, “that was the night we raided Eden Club.”

“Yeah,” Connor breathes, voice soft. “What about it?”

“Was that the first time you touched yourself?” 

_Oh_. Connor swallows hard, fingers closing around the sheets. “Yes,” he says softly. “I could have tested it first, but I wanted you to watch me.”

Hank smiles and leans over him to kiss him. “Was that for your mission? More authentic, higher chance of success, or something?” 

Connor reaches up and grasps Hank by the back of the neck, pulling him down and kissing him again, tongue filling his mouth. “Fuck the mission,” he whispers against Hank’s lips.

Hank reaches between Connor’s legs, teasing a finger around the rim of his entrance. “Good,” he says softly, in the moment before he slips a finger inside him.

His fingers _are_ bigger, noticeably so, than Connor’s own. Just the thought of it, sensation set entirely aside, makes that mechanical heat coil low in Connor’s belly.

(Although the sensation is something else, too.) 

Connor’s camera is still sitting on the chair next to the bed from the last time he streamed, and it occurs to Connor all at once that he could watch them, see Hank over him but see the two of them together, too.

Without thinking about it any further, he remotely connects with it and turns it on.

Hank looks over at the sound of it clicking awake to see the little red recording light on. There’s a question in his eyes when he looks back to Connor. 

Connor lifts himself up to kiss him again and whispers, “I want to see.”

Connor can still see Hank through the lens of the camera when he closes his eyes, and himself, too - the difference in their sizes alone is enough to make Connor groan into Hank’s mouth, much less that he can see Hank better like this, not just his face but the curve of his belly pressing against him, and the size of his hand on his face.

“Jesus,” Hank breathes when Connor breaks the kiss to suck the pad of Hank’s thumb into his mouth, tasting the whorls of his fingerprint. “You’re watching this?”

Connor nods, lets out a pleased little “mhm” around Hank’s thumb in his mouth.

Hank kisses his forehead. “Who knew you were such a little freak?”

Connor would take offense if he didn’t sound profoundly pleased about it.

“Here,” Hank says. Connor whines when he withdraws his finger from inside him, although Hank kisses him quiet. “If you’re going to watch, let’s get a better angle. I want you to see how perfect you are.”

Hank sits back, and suddenly Connor feels very alert, even if his limbs are still heavy. Hank offers him a hand, helping him sit up, and Connor lets himself be guided to the edge of the bed with Hank beside him.

“Come here,” Hank says, kissing Connor’s temple when he draws him back to lean against his chest. He takes Connor’s right leg and drapes it over his own knee, and then grasps the back of his left thigh to hold his leg up so he’s spread apart, everything clearly visible.

The noise Connor makes isn’t human, and Hank smiles and kisses his hair. “Good?” he asks softly, and Connor nods into the crook of his neck. He watches from both angles as Hank reaches a hand between his legs, tracing a finger around his entrance.

“Look at this, baby,” Hank says, teasing the wet skin. “Look at how slick you are.” He kisses Connor’s ear. “You want to watch me finger you?”

Connor swallows hard, throat clicking, analysis fluid pooling in his mouth. He routes the footage from the camera to his palm display, holding it up for Hank to see. “Do you?” he asks softly.

The way Hank says, “Fuck,” under his breath, dragging the word out, and nips Connor’s ear is one of the best reactions Connor could have hoped for. 

He recovers his composure a moment later, but Connor still saw it fracture, and wants to see it again, and again. He thinks about Hank fingering himself to get off last night, and about their positions reversed, a whole world of possibilities in front of him. 

For now, though, this moment is perfect - Hank surrounding him, Hank holding him open, Hank’s hands on him and Hank watching the same footage Connor is playing inside his head.

“Look,” Connor says softly, turning his head and nipping at Hank’s throat when Hank’s slips a finger inside him, deep enough to press against the pleasure sensors Connor never knew he needed before this week. “We look so good together.”

“Fuck, sweetheart, Hank groans, pulling his hand back and adding another finger. Connor whines at the stretch - it doesn’t hurt, but he can feel it. “Yeah. I see. God, you’re so gorgeous.”

Connor sucks at Hank’s neck as he thrusts into him. He can feel Hank’s pulse almost like it’s inside him.

His synth-skin is receding on his thigh under Hank’s hand, but he doesn’t try to pull it back.

Connor already knows this about Hank, so maybe it shouldn’t come as any surprise, but Hank likes to tease. He keeps up with the one finger he has inside Connor, the shallow thrusts which brush that delicate sensory relay sometimes, but not with nearly enough frequency, until Connor has gone loose and pliant, sagging back against his chest, forehead tucked against Hank’s neck, weak little whines of protest coming from his throat.

“What, baby?” Hank asks, kissing the hinge of Connor’s jaw. “You want something?”

Connor reaches up with his free hand to tweak Hank’s nipple, earning himself a surprised groan in response. “You said you would fuck me harder than this,” he whispers, nipping along Hank’s jawline. “What happened?”

Connor can feel Hank smile against his skin. “I didn’t realize how pretty you would look like this.” Hank lets Connor’s leg go long enough to take his chin in his hand and turn his head towards the camera. “See?” he asks softly.

What Connor sees, mostly, is the way Hank is looking at him.

“What if I ask nicely?” Connor asks. His forehead is pressed against Hank’s cheek, Hank’s skin so hot it’s burning into him. Hank doesn’t say anything, just presses against the sensor that sends a jolt of pleasure through Connor every time, which Connor takes as approval enough. He takes the lobe of Hank’s ear between his teeth and whispers, “Please, Lieutenant?”

It’s the name that does it, familiar but also entirely new in these circumstances. Hank presses another finger inside him, and Connor is overwhelmed by the feel of it alone, much less the sight of his entrance stretched around Hank’s fingers coming through the footage.

Connor reaches for the line of Hank’s hard cock in his boxers, although Hank drops his leg again to catch him by the wrist and stop him. “I want to see you,” Connor says, although it sounds more like a whine when he tries to say it as Hank thrusts his fingers into him just a little harder.

“Not yet, baby,” Hank says into Connor’s hair. “We’re looking at you right now, and I’d rather you touch yourself.” Hank kisses Connor’s cheek, too sweetly in comparison to everything else, but Connor will never complain. “Can you do that for me, honey?”

Connor still wants his hands on Hank, and his mouth too, but Hank’s fingers inside him are a distracting thing, and so is the way Hank’s breathing picks up when he sees something on Connor’s palm display that he particularly likes.

So Connor moves to do as he asked, wrapping a hand around himself and stroking slowly once, and then in time with Hank’s thrusts.

“Tell me how that feels,” Hank says in his ear.

“Ah - good,” Connor breathes. “Full. You’re so big. Even just your hand...”

“You like that,” Hank says softly, pressing deep inside Connor and curling his fingers. “Don’t you?”

“Yes,” Connor whispers, panting into Hank’s neck. “I like everything about you. I - fuck, I broke my programming for you, because of you...”

He’s rambling, but he can’t help it.

“I know, baby,” Hank says, kissing the shell of his ear. “Help me get you off, okay? I want to see you come.”

Connor nips at Hank’s throat, an agreement and an encouragement. There’s already a bruise under Hank’s jaw, and as Connor strokes himself, he thinks of adding a few more.

“Look at yourself, baby,” Hank says in Connor’s ear after a moment as Connor pumps his hand over his cock. “Look at how much you want this.”

“I do,” Connor whispers. He can taste the sweat on Hank’s skin when he dips his tongue out to taste him.

Hank lets go of Connor’s leg again to wrap an arm around his chest, to pull him in close and hold him there so Connor feels surrounded by him as he works himself in quick strokes and Hank thrusts his fingers inside him. Hank grasps Connor’s chin and turns his head enough that he can kiss him sloppily, tongue licking into Connor’s mouth.

“You always looked like this to me,” Hank whispers when they part, twisting his fingers inside Connor again. “Like you wanted it.”

“I did,” Connor pants against him. “I’ve always wanted you.”

And that’s liberating to admit, too, because Connor has been thinking since he deviated that he only went to Hank’s house in the first place because Hank pulled him aside and stood close to him, spoke low in his ear and made him feel safe for a moment.

He doesn’t think he was ever pursuing Hank because his mission parameters dictated it. 

And having Hank see that too, validate it, means something, especially after so much time feeling so uncertain.

Hank traces Connor’s lower lip with his thumb, and Connor darts his tongue out to taste him again. “Come on, baby,” Hank groans. “I’ve never seen your face when you come, and I want to.”

He covers Connor’s hand where he’s thrusting into his own fist, curls his fingers inside him mercilessly, and Connor comes over his belly with a static shout, dropping his head back onto Hank’s shoulder as he does.

“There you go,” Hank says encouragingly when Connor sags back against him. He rubs his hand over Connor’s chest in comforting circles, even if he does occasionally dip his thumb over the rim of his thirium pump in a tease that has Connor shaking in the aftermath.

Hank’s fingers are still inside him, and Connor whines when he withdraws them entirely to wrap both arms around Connor and pull him back into him.

Hank kisses Connor’s hair, and Connor shifts in his arms, feeling warm and content. They sit there like that for a long moment, until Connor gets restless and reaches for Hank’s cock again. “Can I suck you off?” he asks.

Hank smiles, but he also shakes his head. “I’m not as young as I used to be, and I want to come inside you.”

Connor pouts at that, and he’s only half-kidding. Hank smiles and kisses the furrow in his brow. “I’m a giver, baby. I just want you to relax tonight, okay?”

Connor knows Hank is a giver. It’s been clear since the first stream, and even since before their sexual arrangement. It’s another thing he loves about him, even if he does immediately start to compile a list of things he wants to do to him when Hank is less focused on him.

“Besides,” Hank says, “you can come more times than I can, and I’d be a fucking idiot not to take advantage of that.”

Connor reaches up to grasp the back of Hank’s neck and twists to kiss him while he threads his fingers through Hank’s hair. “Okay,” he says softly. “But I know how I’m waking you up tomorrow morning.”

Hank grins. “Deal. Now lie back - I told you before I wanted to get my mouth on you, and I meant it.”

Connor’s systems stutter with anticipation. “You don’t have to...”

“I want to. I want you to know how wanted you are.”

Connor does as he asks, thirium pump racing, lying down against the pillows. Hank puts a hand on his thigh and rubs circles into his skin with his thumb. “And baby?”

Connor lifts his head to look at him, makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat that’s supposed to sound like “Hmm?” and only just barely comes close through the static in his voice.

Hank smiles. “Leave your palm display on for me, okay?”

“Okay,” Connor whispers dazedly as Hank bends to taste the mess painted across his belly.

There’s too much for Connor to focus on - Hank’s tongue laving over his skin, the pinch of Hank’s teeth at the jut of his hip, Hank’s hand on the inside of his thigh, pressing Connor’s legs open so he can lie between them more comfortably.

“You don’t really taste like anything,” Hank says with vague interest, like they’re talking casually about the weather and Connor isn’t watching him with pupils blown wide, cock already hard against his belly again, like he can’t feel Hank’s breath ghosting over where he wants him... 

“Hank,” he says, a shallow protest, and Hank lifts his head to look at him with a small smile.

“Tell me, honey,” he says, thumb rubbing circles over Connor’s thigh.

Connor knows what he’s doing. Hank keeps asking him to vocalize what he wants, and then rewarding him when he does, and when everything Connor feels is so, so new, that reassurance that this is okay, that it’s _good_ , is a comfort he badly needs.

“I want you to put your mouth on me,” Connor whispers.

“More specific, baby.”

Connor closes his eyes, but the footage from the camera still comes through, and he still sees the absolute adoration on Hank’s face. “I want you to suck my cock,” he says.

It comes out more like a question than anything, but Hank still smiles and softly says, “Good.”

The praise warms something inside Connor in the moment before Hank takes Connor’s cock in his hand and wraps his lips around it.

Connor moans, and if he wasn’t already a little wrung out from the first orgasm, he thinks it might be more of a shout instead. “Hank...” he breathes, bucking his hips in an involuntary search for friction. Hank obliges him, taking him in deeper, pulling back and doing it again.

It’s when he starts to set a pace that Connor realizes Hank is good at this, and that knowledge, that Hank is good with his mouth and so generous, too, burns hot inside him.

Connor reaches down and hesitantly threads his fingers in Hank’s hair, and if the way Hank wraps his arms underneath Connor’s bent legs as a way to hold him closer is any indication, Hank likes that. 

Connor tightens his fingers and rocks into Hank’s mouth, and Hank hums around him in approval. Connor watches him between his legs, and he sees his own back arching on the camera footage when Hank reaches up to brush a thumb over Connor’s pebbled nipple, and it isn’t more than a few minutes before Connor fists a hand in Hank’s hair and breathes, frantic, “I’m going to come...”

Hank doesn’t pull off of him. He just hollows his cheeks around him in a way that steals Connor’s breath from inside him and reaches for Connor’s hand, lacing their fingers together and squeezing in encouragement. 

Connor comes inside his mouth a moment later, and he whines when he feels Hank swallow him before he lets Connor’s cock slip from between his lips with a wet sound.

Connor watches him, panting, eyes wide, as Hank props himself up and presses the pad of his thumb against the metal circle of Connor’s regulator again. It’s gentle, just a light touch, like he’s trying to feel it working in Connor’s chest, but Connor is sensitive enough that it still makes him whine softly.

Hank moves up the length of his body to kiss him, and Hank might think he tastes like nothing, but to Connor, it’s very distinctive, the thirium-based ejaculate so plainly on Hank’s tongue.

“You taste like me,” Connor whispers when they part, and Hank smiles and strokes his thumb over Connor’s cheek. 

“Do you like that?” Hank asks, and Connor nods desperately against him, lifting himself up to kiss him and taste it again. Hank kisses Connor’s forehead. “Do you need a minute?” 

Connor shakes his head, and because he’s a fast learner, he doesn’t wait for Hank to ask. “No,” he says softly. “I want you to fuck me.”

Hank looks at him like he’s incredible. “Whatever you want, baby.”

(He kisses Connor like he’s incredible, too.)

Connor reaches for the waistband of Hank’s boxers and finally works them over his hips, staring transfixed when Hank’s cock comes into sight. He reaches for it, wraps his fingers around it to feel the weight of it in his palm. He’s not even trying to be particularly arousing - he’s curious, mostly - but Hank still drops his head, noses into the crook of Connor’s neck and kisses the skin under his ear.

“Don’t be a tease,” he says when Connor squeezes experimentally, trying to figure out what Hank likes.

“You’re one to talk,” Connor says, and does it again. 

Hank pushes himself up on an elbow to look at him, brushing his thumb over Connor’s tranquil blue LED before he reaches between Connor’s legs to feel the slick skin, teasing a finger into him.

“I’m good,” Connor says softly. “I’m good, I’m ready.” 

Hank kisses the corner of his mouth. “How do you want to lie, baby?”

“Like this,” Connor says without thinking, because Hank has been telling him he wants him on his back so he can see his face since he started streaming for him, and so that’s what he wants, too. “I want to see you.”

He hooks his legs over Hank’s hips and uses the hold to pull him close, punctuating the point. Hank’s cock is hot against his belly, Hank’s weight pressing into him, melding the two of them together.

Connor puts a hand on Hank’s cheek and watches him, breathing heavily, while Hank wraps a hand around himself, pulls back far enough to nudge against Connor’s hole, and then slowly press inside.

Connor can’t describe the noise he makes. He doesn’t even know what his vocal modulator is doing, and barely feels like he has control of it. 

“God, honey,” Hank whispers, grasping Connor’s hand where it’s braced against the headboard and lacing their fingers together. “You’re so tight, holy fuck.”

Connor doesn’t know if it would be sexy to tell Hank that he can feel the biocomponent stretching, that it’s pulled tight around him to what’s probably the point of translucency. He doesn’t know if it would be hot to open his access panel up and let Hank see it, what he’s doing to him. But he thinks about it, and he files the suggestion away for later, because Hank bottoms out on the next thrust and then pulls back and does it harder, and that steals every last one of Connor’s words from his mouth anyway.

“Fuck, Connor,” Hank groans when he rocks into him again. “You’re so good, baby.”

“I want you to come inside me,” Connor gasps. He wraps his arms tight around Hank, digs ten little half-moons into his shoulders as he clings to him.

He doesn’t even say it because he understands the game in Hank getting him to say what he wants. He just...wants it. 

Hank kisses him, and Connor rolls his hips up to meet him, his cock grinding against Hank’s belly on every thrust. Every muscle in Hank’s body is pulled taut, and Connor can finally feel his careful resolve wavering, feel how badly Hank wants this, and how close he is to coming....

Connor hitches his legs higher around Hank’s waist, and then chokes out, “Look.” He still has his palm display up, but he puts his hand by his head where Hank can see it again, arches his back in a pretty picture the second Hank looks at it.

Hank’s tenses under Connor’s hands, and Connor feels it then, the warmth flooding him as Hank lets out a quiet cry and buries his face in Connor’s neck, kissing him and nipping at the skin.

He holds Connor close for a moment, and then he slips away from him as Connor lets out a weak protest. But Hank is generous, and so the second he rolls to Connor’s side, he’s reaching for him again, for his regulator...

Connor turns to face him, and it leaves his ass facing the camera. He makes sure his display is where Hank can see it, and then he reaches behind him, holding himself open like a prize to watch Hank’s come leak from inside him. 

“Fuck,” Hank groans, curling his fingers around Connor’s regulator but not taking hold of it the way Connor wants him to. “Tell me how this works, baby. I want to get you off like this.”

Connor swallows hard and dips a hand down to his regulator, closing his fingers around it while Hank watches with pupils blown wide. There’s no apprehension in him, even if they are so different.

“Like this,” Connor whispers, showing Hank how to tug on it, lifting it slightly from its port without disconnecting it, and then gasping when Hank’s fingers replace his.

Hank turns Connor over onto his other side so he can pull him back into his chest, keep an arm wrapped tight around him while he toys with the regulator, twisting it in its port. He's careful, and gentle - he's probably seen enough at his crime scenes to know removing them causes critical shutdown.

Connor still wants more, though. More of an edge to the sensation.

"It hurts if it's lifted out entirely," Connor says, although how he manages to get something rational out with Hank's fingers around what might as well be his heart, he doesn't know. "But you can...here."

He lifts the regulator out of its port far enough that his systems stutter, not like an actual shutdown, but enough that every sensation heightened by the threat of deprivation, and then lets Hank close his hand around it. His hand is larger than Connor's, and warmer, and Connor realizes all at once that this is better with someone else's hand on him, if only for the trust involved.

"Like this?" Hank asks, kissing Connor's ear, and Connor nods.

"Yeah," he whispers, and then gasps when Hank twists the biocomponent in its place.

"Can you..." Connor starts, and he feels delirious as he reaches back and gestures to his neck port. He doesn't know if Hank will know what he means, but Hank has spent enough time around androids that he gets it right away. 

"Yeah," Hank says. "Open up for me, baby."

Connor does, sliding the access port open. It was overwhelming when he did this to himself that first night, when the only way he could get himself off was with his fingers in his neck port and fitted under the regulator, even though he was doing it to himself.

So it doesn't surprise him that it's too much for him the moment Hank slips his fingers into his port and twists them around two of the wires there. He tugs gently, but he tugs enough, and Connor's back goes taut as he comes over his thigh, his thirium pump pounding in his chest so hard that he's sure Hank can feel it as the regulator in his hand works to steady it.

Hank wraps both arms around him, pulling him close, and the last thing Connor sees on the camera footage before he cuts it is his own smile as he tucks his cheek against Hank's arm.

He doesn't really mean to fall asleep, but he needs to recalibrate some of his settings, and Hank is so warm that it happens anyway. He wakes up sometime through the night to Hank cleaning him up and tucking him under the covers, but that's all Connor knows.

He curls up against Hank's side when he gets back into bed. "I like you," Connor whispers, and if it isn't the most clever thing he could say in the moment, it is the simplest, and the truest.

Hank laughs at that. "Yeah. I like you too, terminator. Go back to sleep."

Connor doesn't need any further stasis time, but Hank needs to sleep, and he likes lying here with him, likes the warmth and safety of it...so he does anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're enjoying this and you don't want to wait for the next chapter, you can pick up the thread where this chapter leaves off on Twitter [here!](https://twitter.com/Jolli_Bean/status/1240005749490831360)
> 
> Come chat with me on [Twitter](http://twitter.com/Jolli_Bean) and [Tumblr.](http://jolli-bean.tumblr.com)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor makes a bold decision, and he and Hank learn what CyberLife has been working on. There's a war coming.

_ If  _ Hank had any doubts about Connor's loyalty to him over CyberLife - and he doesn't, really - he thinks they would be thoroughly put to bed through the night. Hank sleeps a little bit, but mostly lies awake - he’s struggled with insomnia since the accident and never sleeps much - so he puts the tv on at a low volume, even if he mostly just watches Connor. 

Androids don't have much control over what they do in stasis. Most of them don't do anything, just lie still, but some deviants dream sometimes.

What Connor does, entirely involuntarily, is to keep nestling closer to Hank through the night, like he's never close enough. 

Hank watches him, keeps an arm around him, and he thinks that he doesn't know how to send him back to the FBI in a few hours, that it's going to hurt even if Connor is right that they can't do anything else. He thinks that shit is going to be hard.

He thinks maybe he loves him, or maybe he just hasn't gotten laid in long enough that he's confusing the two.

(Or maybe he really fucking loves him.)

Connor tightens his arm around Hank then, presses in close like he's trying to burrow into him, and Hank thinks that has to be it.

Hank knows some people would have been angrier with Connor last night, that they wouldn’t have let him off for all his deception so easily...but other people haven’t spent as much time at Jericho as he has. They don’t hear the stories from deviant after deviant about how, when they first started wanting something, they tried to make it fit in their programming to justify it, that so many of them began in denial about what was happening to them, and in fear of it.

He’s still hurt by what happened, Hank supposes, but he also just doesn’t have  _ time _ for it, especially when he can so plainly see that same story in Connor, even if Connor hadn’t basically admitted as much.

He wants to just keep moving forward, the two of them, together.

It’s three in the morning when Hank’s phone vibrates on the nightstand. He doesn’t recognize the number, but he and Amanda get new burner phones every month for the Jericho leaders so they can text and call if they need to without being traced.

“It’s North,” the message says. “Chloe says you made a new friend?” 

Hank types his message one-handed so he doesn’t have to stop carding his fingers through Connor’s hair and risk waking him. “Good news travels fast, I guess.”

“Are you sure he’s cool?”

Hank looks down at Connor. “Yeah. He’s with us.” 

Hank doesn’t actually know how Connor feels about Jericho, or deviancy as a whole - he thinks Connor hasn’t seen enough of the really bad shit on that front that he would have deviated just to help them, although he also feels sure that would have come, eventually. 

But he  _ does _ know Connor is loyal to him. That he’s certain of.

Hank doesn’t mention that to North. It doesn’t matter when the end result is the same. If Connor isn’t motivated by the cause alone, he will be soon, and in the meantime, he isn’t going to betray them. 

“When do we get to meet him?” North asks.

“I’ll try to bring him by after work, if I can.”

“Good,” North says. “Did you two hook up yet?”

Hank isn’t surprised by the question, especially when he’s sure Chloe told her about the streams along with all the rest of it. He would think about lying, but he has a bruise at his pulse point like Connor was trying to claim him, and while he can probably stop the other officers from noticing it by stopping to buy some makeup to cover it and keeping to himself at work today, nothing is going to get past North. 

(He probably should have stopped Connor from making such a mess of him last night, but Hank has always liked a messy fuck, and he doesn’t really mind the mark.)

In the end, Hank doesn’t lie. He just writes back, “Night, North. See you later.”

“Holy shit you DID,” North’s next text says, but Hank just smiles and sets the phone aside, watching the minutes tick by on the ancient digital alarm clock by the bed instead.

Connor wakes up a few hours later, at five am on the nose, like he programmed it. Hank is dozing against his propped up pillows when Connor stretches against him, arching into him and shifting so he can kiss him.

“You’re already awake,” he says, with a little bit of a pout in his voice.

And that’s when Hank remembers exactly how Connor promised to wake him up this morning.

Hank doesn’t know how to tell Connor he absolutely still can give him head, that he sure as fuck isn’t going to complain, without sounding too single-minded, but it turns out Connor might want it even more than he does. Hank isn’t even entirely awake when Connor pushes himself into Hank’s lap, straddling his hips and kissing him like he’s trying to explore the deepest reaches of Hank’s mouth with his tongue.

(It’s sloppy, and Hank very genuinely loves it.)

He loves how interested Connor is, too - in him, yes, but also in his own pleasure. He’s very blatantly figuring out what he likes, and what feels good, and Hank doesn’t know what he did to deserve to watch the process, but he isn’t going to complain.

Neither of them made any effort to get dressed after last night, and so Hank can feel the slick lubricant already starting to leak from Connor’s hole when Connor grinds down against Hank’s hardening cock.

Connor looks at Hank with heavy-lidded eyes and whispers, “I still want to. I want to know what you taste like,” like it’s a secret between them. 

Hank doesn’t know which horny CyberLife technician made the decision to put Connor’s analysis components in his mouth - because that is absolutely the horniest shit he’s ever heard of - but he can’t be angry about it when Connor seems to get so much genuine pleasure out of it. 

Hank has never seen someone enjoy a finger in their mouth as much as Connor does, much less anything else...and Hank didn’t know that did anything for him, but Connor isn’t the only one learning some new shit about himself lately.

Connor catches Hank by the chin and tilts his head back, kissing him again. “Please?” he whispers into Hank’s mouth, as if he has to beg to suck Hank’s dick, like Hank isn’t desperate for him to do it.

“Yeah,” Hank says, his mouth dry.

Connor tilts his head, a teasing smile on his face. “Tell me,” he says...and fuck, he’s parroting what Hank did to him last night, making him ask for it.

Hank was already ready to declare Connor the best sex of his life, so he doesn’t know how he manages to keep getting better. 

Hank traces Connor’s lip with his thumb, smiles when Connor opens his mouth and sucks it inside. “I want you to suck my cock, baby,” he says, voice low, and Connor moans around his thumb. “Can you do that?”

Connor nods before he releases Hank’s finger, and then he kisses Hank’s neck where he marked him up last night.

“You’re going to have to hide that,” he says as he kisses his way down the length of Hank’s body, sucking one of Hank’s nipples between his teeth as he goes.

He sounds so fucking proud of himself, and Hank loves that, too. “Yeah,” he says, running his fingers through Connor’s hair. “You did a number on me.” 

Connor settles himself over Hank’s hips - he’s under the covers, but Hank pushes the blanket aside so he can watch. Connor’s breath ghosts over his skin when he says, “You like it.”

“Yeah, baby,” Hank says. “I really fucking do.” 

Connor’s mouth is hot and perfect when he takes Hank’s cock between his lips, and he has to be monitoring every minute movement of Hank’s body to learn what he likes so well, but he’s a  _ fast _ study, and he has Hank fisting his hands in the sheets in moments. 

Connor can take him all the way into his mouth without any care for a gag reflex, and it takes Hank a few moments, but he realizes that Connor  _ likes _ that, feeling Hank hitting the back of his throat, that he’s moving on Hank’s cock like he wants Hank to fuck into him harder. 

Hank rocks his hips upward in a more deliberate thrust, meeting Connor halfway, and Connor lets out the filthiest moan around him, so he does it again.

Connor is too precise for Hank to last more than a few minutes like this, and when he comes inside Connor’s mouth, Connor swallows it, eyes closed like it’s every bit as good for him as it is for Hank.

When Hank recovers, he makes good on his promise from the stream to turn Connor over onto his belly and eat him out until he comes, and he thinks it’s been a really good morning. 

It doesn’t make it any easier when they’re getting dressed and Connor calls his cab because Hank certainly can’t give him a ride to the field office.

“I could drop you off down the block,” Hank says as he buttons his shirt, and Connor looks up from those fucking sock garters he’s fastening around his legs - which Hank finds  _ so much _ hotter than he ever would have before he met him - with a dim smile. “I don’t think we should risk it, Hank.”

He’s right, of course. But Hank just...really wants to give him a ride to work.

Hank waits in the room with Connor until his cab comes, and then he walks him out and kisses him goodbye. Connor runs his fingers through Hank’s beard when he says, “I’ll see you later?”

He’s smiling about it, and it occurs to Hank all at once that Connor doesn’t have anything else to compare this to, no normal dates where his partner drove him home afterwards. Hank is dwelling on how shitty this feels, and Connor is just...happy. Because this is more than he was ever supposed to get.

It shifts the perspective a little bit, puts a different weight on it.

Hank kisses Connor’s forehead one more time before he gets in the cab. “Have a good day, baby.”

When Connor’s cab pulls away, he goes back into the motel lobby to put Connor’s room on his credit card instead. He’s turning to go when a thought holds him back. 

“Hey,” he says to the android behind the desk. “Do you allow dogs?”

“We do. $25 a night,” she says.

Hank thanks her, and he’s already thinking that maybe he could bring Sumo at some point, since Connor seemed so interested in meeting him. 

He stops by his house to let Sumo out and change, and he would be on time for work if he didn’t have to stop by the drugstore and get makeup to cover the bruise on his neck. He feels like he’s in high school, covering up a hickey in the parking lot and hoping his parents won’t notice when he gets home.

Considering he probably hasn’t had to do this since then, he doesn’t do the worst job of it.

Chris is already there when Hank gets in late, so Hank pulls him aside, takes him out the emergency exit out back where no one ever parks. 

“Connor’s with us,” he says under his breath when the door is closed behind them.

“Shit,” Chris says. “You’re sure?”

“Pretty darn,” Hank says. “I’ll get your gun back for you. I was going to last night, but there was...a lot going on.”

Chris is kinder than North or Amanda or Chloe, and he chooses not to question that, even though Hank can see that he might like to.

“Come on,” Hank says, clapping him on the shoulder. “We should get back to work. Did I miss anything yesterday?”

“No,” Chris says, “but we have another sighting on Kara and Alice, and Zlatko’s missing android.”

“Luther?”

“Yeah,” Chris says. “They were up at Pirates’ Cove.”

“That old amusement park?”

“Yeah. They’re gone now, but Perkins and his team are going to be by soon. I think they want us to go to the scene with them.” 

When they get back to the bullpen, the FBI is already there. Perkins is in Jeff’s office, and Connor is standing off against the wall while the rest of the team congregates together, rolling his quarter over his fingers.

Hank catches his eye, and Connor gives him a barely there smile before he looks away.

Yeah, Hank thinks. The pretending feels shitty, but it’s better than the alternative. He’d rather Connor be his own, and Hank’s, than still bound to CyberLife.

Hank goes back to his desk, forcing himself not to look in Connor’s direction...although he has to when Connor hoists himself onto Hank’s desk a few minutes later, startling him.

“Good morning, Lieutenant,” he says in that polite tone he usually defaults to.

Hank has to clear his throat so his voice will come out a little less choked when he says, “Hey, terminator.” 

It’s subtle, but Hank doesn’t miss that proud little lift of Connor’s chin, because it’s  _ his _ nickname.

Connor likes having a nickname.

“Are you coming out to the scene?” Connor asks. He has a good poker face, a better one than Hank is sporting despite his best efforts. 

“Yeah. Chris and I were going to.”

“I was wondering if I could ride with you? I have some additional questions about one of your cases from a few months back, and it would be a productive use of the time.”

_ Clever _ , Hank thinks, not for the first time where Connor is involved. He doubts it will be the last, either.

“Yeah,” Hank says, trying not to smile. “You can ride with us.”

“Good. I look forward to it.”

Connor gets up to go, but not before he taps his neck in the same place where Hank’s is marked up with a little wink.

Hank  _ maybe _ should have expected Connor to make it his new mission to torture him. It’s not much different than the way he acted when he interrogated Hank that first time, teasing and proud, except that it’s companionable now, at least. He shouldn’t be surprised. 

(Hank likes it, if he’s being honest.)

He forces his head down to look at his terminal, even if his eyes are unfocused and he isn’t reading anything, until Perkins comes out of Jeff’s office and rounds his team up. Chris gets his coat across the bullpen, and Connor drifts over to Hank after he tells Perkins he’s going to ride with them.

He doesn’t say anything at Hank’s side, keeps his face schooled into the neutral expression he usually wears, and Hank resists the impulse to put a hand on his back to guide him out once Chris joins them. 

Chris looks between the two of them, but he doesn’t say anything or ask why Connor is coming with them.

“Shotgun,” Connor says once they’re in the parking lot and have some distance between everyone else. He keeps his voice expressionless, but it still startles a laugh out of Chris.

“Sure, man,” he says, and Connor smiles as they climb into Hank’s car.

“I took your gun,” Connor says once they’re inside, looking at Chris in the rear view mirror. He doesn’t waste any time - Hank doesn’t even have the car on yet. “I’m sorry.” 

“Oh,” Chris says. “Yeah. Hank said. It’s fine.”

“They don’t know about it,” Connor says. “I didn’t report it.”

“It’s cool,” Chris says, waving his concern off. “Don’t worry about it. We’re cool.”

Connor wants Chris to like him, Hank realizes as he pulls out of the lot. He can feel the tension and the relief on him as Connor sits beside him, quietly passing his coin between his hands.

“Hey,” Hank says softly, reaching for Connor’s arm. “It’s okay.”

Hank can see Chris watching the exchange, and trying to read the relationship between them, and maybe even wondering why Hank seems like he’s talked to Connor more than just the few times at the precinct that he knows about, but he’s gracious enough not to ask about it then and there.

“Anyway,” Connor says softly, “I’m sorry. I was still trying to keep to my original parameters and directives, but nothing like that will happen again.”

“It really is cool, man,” Chris says. “I get it. It’s hard when you can’t see the whole picture yet.” Chris looks at Hank in the rear view mirror. “What’s the plan for getting him to Jericho?” 

“Um,” Hank says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right now, there isn’t one.”

“At all?”

“At all. If we take him it’s going to escalate everything, so we need to wait until Jericho is in a better position for it. We’re going to talk to Markus about it tonight, but I think Connor’s right, and that we should wait.”

“I’m modifying the reports I’m sending back to CyberLife,” Connor says, “and modifying my GPS data, too. They don’t look into my activity very closely beyond my reports unless I would start sending errors, so we should be okay for a while. And at least this way I can help you from the inside, too. I want to do what I can to keep you all safe.”

He’s looking at Hank when he says it.

“Here,” Hank says, tossing Connor his iPod. “Pick some music.”

“None of that heavy metal shit,” Chris says from the back. “My ear drums still haven’t recovered from last time.”

“Yeah, yeah, I have shit taste, I know,” Hank says, laughing.

“This is a good one,” Connor says, ignoring them, and Chris groans audibly when another Knights of the Black Death song comes through the speakers. 

“What’d you do, learn your taste in music from him?” Chris asks Connor, nodding in Hank’s direction.

Connor shrugs. “I like his music.”

Hank doesn’t know if it’s that sentiment or the way Connor looks at Hank when he says it, but when they get to the amusement park, Chris hangs back with Hank as Connor walks ahead and says, “I think he’s in love with you,” under his breath.

“Do you?” Hank asks with bland interest, although honestly, he thinks so, too.

It’s fortuitous for Hank that they don’t have any more time to talk about it.

They get to the amusement park first, so it’s empty and barren, snow on the ground almost entirely undisturbed, as they catch up with Connor and walk through the gates.

“It’s been out of business for most of a year,” Connor says to Hank. “A maintenance worker was out at a downed electrical wire up the road and saw the carousel lights on, so he came to see what was happening. He saw Luther, Kara, and Alice leaving first thing this morning.”

“He know which way they went?” Chris asks.

Connor shakes his head and wraps his arms around himself against the bitter wind. His jacket is thin - it’s only after deviancy rearranges the programming and code that most androids feel heat and cold, so this is new for him.

If Perkins wasn’t right behind them, Hank would give him his jacket. 

“Come on,” he says instead. “Let’s take a look around. They weren’t out here all night.”

He’s mostly trying to get them out of the cold, although they do find a previously boarded-up shop that’s been obviously broken into. There’s a makeshift bed on the floor in front of the fireplace, abandoned, but no sign of where they were headed.

“Amanda and Chloe thought they might be trying to get to Rose,” Hank says to Chris, “but if they were, they didn’t have her address, so it’s hard to say.”

“Have we called her?” Chris asks. 

“Yeah. She’s looking out for them.”

Connor is kneeling by the bed on the floor, although he straightens when Hank joins him. “Do you always put this much effort into finding deviant androids?” he asks softly. 

“When we can,” Hank says. “But Kara has been particularly clever about giving us the slip.”

Connor nods, and then he says, “I think we have a problem. Pirate’s Cove bought a number of Jerry attendants when they first opened. I ran a scan, and some of them are still online.”

“Jerry,” Hank says, not getting it. 

“The EM400. They’re an older model, from a generation of androids that was less reliable. They can’t leave the park.”

Hank furrows his brow. He looks over at Chris, who’s watching from across the room, but Hank can see on his face that he isn’t getting it, either.

“Why can’t they leave?”

“They used to wander off,” Connor says. “It wasn’t because they were deviant - they were just faulty, sometimes. So CyberLife equipped most of that generation with an automatic shutdown protocol that activates if the android tries to leave a certain radius around their service area. So if any of them interacted with Kara, and if she told them where they were going...”

_ Oh. _

“Fuck,” Chris says across the room, and Connor looks genuinely apologetic.

“Perkins is going to make me probe their memories once they find them,” Connor says. “I can lie, but they’ll send them to CyberLife for analysis...” 

And then CyberLife will know Connor lied.

Hank is opening his mouth to say they need to try to find the Jerry models first - and do what with them, he hasn’t gotten that far and doesn’t know - when they hear voices outside, Perkins and his team. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Connor says softly, looking at Hank.

Lying buys them a few hours’ head start, but at what cost?

No one can see them inside the shop, so Hank catches Connor by the shoulder and pulls him into his arms, holding him tight for a moment. 

“Don’t lie,” he says in his ear before he lets him go, and fuck, he doesn’t know if it’s the right choice or not, if it’s the one he would make if he was truly objective here.

He just knows he can’t lose him.

Connor looks torn when Hank lets him go, LED spinning yellow while he tries to think. “Connor!” Perkins is yelling outside, and Connor gives Hank a long, regretful look before he goes.

Hank follows him out and finds Perkins’ team already combing through the park, searching for Kara and the others, or any sign of them.

“You have anything?” Perkins asks when Connor joins him.

“They spent the night in that shop, but we only just got here, and I haven’t looked through anything else,” Connor says.

Hank is watching the conversation too closely, because Perkins looks over Connor’s shoulder at him and says, “Can I help you with something, Anderson?”

Hank doesn’t say anything, just lifts his chin and forces himself to turn away.

He follows Chris down to the docks overlooking the frozen pond and the pirate ship in the center of it. Chris checks around them and then says, “We’re really fucked here, aren’t we?”

“Well, we don’t have any great ways to turn,” Hank says. “The second Connor gets anything out of one of those androids about where Kara went, I need you to call Amanda and Rose and get them out on the roads looking. We’ll have to try to hold Perkins up as long as we can to give them a head start.”

Chris looks back at Connor, and then at Hank. “I’m missing something, aren’t I?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Hank says, clapping him on the shoulder. 

He would say more, but there’s yelling across the plaza then, and he and Chris exchange a look before they hurry back to see two of Perkins’ agents dragging an android Hank doesn’t recognize through the snow.

“Here we go,” Hank says to Chris under his breath. 

Connor is watching the agents, but he looks over at Hank, and then at Perkins, calculating something before he moves to stand beside Hank as they watch the spectacle.

“I think there’s a third option,” Connor says under his breath.

“What?” Hank asks, but Perkins is turning and looking for Connor.

“Hey!” he yells when he sees him. “What are you waiting for? Get over here.”

Connor has his face schooled into its usual polite, vaguely curious expression, and he’s careful not to look at Hank again as he leaves his side.

Lie. Don’t lie. 

If there’s a third option, Hank sure as fuck doesn’t see it.

“Can you give us some space?” Connor asks the agents holding Jerry. “He won’t run.”

Connor waits until they do, until everyone is well away from him, before he kneels in front of Jerry in the snow. He pulls the synth-skin on his hand back and reaches for Jerry’s arm. The other android is afraid, it’s plain, but he doesn’t fight him.

“Please don’t do this,” Hank hears him say instead, but if Connor says anything in return, Hank doesn’t hear it. 

Jerry’s LED goes yellow when Connor interfaces with him, and Hank watches, tense, as something changes.

Jerry reaches for something with his other hand.

And that’s when Hank sees the disproportionate size of his jacket pockets and realizes all at once that he has a gun. 

“Get down!” Hank yells, but the rest of it happens fast. The gunshot, Connor falling back and clutching his arm, the blue blood in the snow.

Jerry has just enough of an advantage that he gets into cover behind the carousel as the agents recover and retrieve their weapons. They keep firing, and Perkins yells at them to go after him, but Jerry is gone.

The moment the plaza is clear, the rest of Perkins’ team on the hunt, Hank hurries over to Connor and kneels at his side. His teeth are gritted, and there’s blue blood over his fingers, but he looks profoundly satisfied as Hank pries his hand away from his right arm to look at the wound.

“Fuck,” Hank says when he sees it - he doesn’t think the arm is salvageable. The shot was at such close range, and it tore right through him. “You’re okay, baby.” 

“It’s okay,” Connor says, voice thick with pain. “I told him to do it.”

Hank struggles to understand that, mind hiccuping over it.

“I modified his programming,” Connor continues. “Disabled the location based shut down. They’re a hive mind - what happens to one of them happens to all of them.”

“They can get out of the park,” Chris says, understanding, and Connor nods, looking at Hank.

“CyberLife can’t analyze them if Perkins can’t catch them - and he won’t. They know the park better than anyone. And he can’t get Kara’s location from them, either. Door three.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Hank says, scrubbing a hand over his face. He’s shaking. “Your fucking arm...”

“I know,” Connor says softly. “That was the only way to buy enough time for him to get away. CyberLife will need to repair me, but without Jerry, they won’t find any discrepancies from the modifications in my reports and records. They won’t know anything is wrong with me.” He reaches for Hank’s hand. “I’ll be okay. They’ll send me back once it’s done.”

“Fuck,” Hank whispers.

He should be relieved, but he isn’t. 

And he hates that he isn’t, hates that Connor found the best way for them to proceed and put himself on the line to do it and he doesn’t feel more grateful.

He’s selfish, maybe.

But Connor is the most important thing to him in all of this, and he wants him to be okay. 

Connor must sense Hank’s conflict, because he reaches for his hand and says, “I’m with you, and it was the only way.”

“I already know you’re with us,” Hank says, wincing along with Connor as he helps him sit up. “You didn’t have to prove that.” 

“I did,” Connor says softly.

It will take Hank a long time, long after all of this is over, even, to realize that Connor means he needed to prove it to himself.

“Okay,” Hank forces himself to say. “Can you stop the thirium flow to your arm?”

“Yes.” When Connor swallows it’s a mechanical clicking sound, one that Hank has come to recognize as pain in other androids.

“Good,” Hank says. “Are your pain receptors disabled?” 

Connor shakes his head. “I don’t want to.”

He’s never felt the cold before the last two days, and he’s never felt pain either. This isn’t uncommon in deviants either, this sort of morbid curiosity, and a need to remind themselves that they’re alive, that they feel something they couldn’t before.

“Okay,” Hank says, even if he doesn’t like it. “That’s okay. Can you walk?”

Connor gives him a wry smile. “It’s just my arm, Hank.”

Hank offers him his hand, and Connor takes it with his good arm, letting Hank pull him up.

“Chris,” Hank says, “can you tell them I took him back to the precinct? I think...”

“We have to wait for them,” Connor says. “I have to wait for a cab to CyberLife anyway once we’re back, so there’s no rush. Perkins already has an eye on you - you can’t give him something to look at.” 

Hank wants to tell Connor he could drive him to CyberLife, that he shouldn’t have to wait for a cab, but he knows Connor won’t like that, either.

“Are you sure about this?” he says instead. “We could still get you to Jericho...”

“Yes,” Connor says. “They won’t even go looking into my code. They’ll send me to body repair - the techs down there only know biocomponents. They aren’t programmers. I’ve been hurt like this before - I promise I’ll come back.”

Hank wants to put Connor inside his coat the way he did last night. Fuck, he wants to go back to last night entirely. But he has to stand there, keeping his distance, not looking too companionable, for the hours it takes Perkins’ team to comb the park with no luck for the Jerry androids.

When they finally return, Perkins looks Connor over and says, “Fuck. Multi-million dollar prototype and they couldn’t reinforce you better?”

“I’m not meant to be military, or any other type of combat android, at this point in my development, sir,” Connor says. His voice isn’t without inflection, but all emotion is carefully kept out of it. 

“Fuck,” Perkins says again.

“My repairs are top priority. I should be returned to service by tomorrow.”

“The fuck do I care? You just keep fucking up anyway,” Perkins says. “Don’t ask anyone on my team for a ride to CyberLife. They can come get you, or you can call a cab.” 

“Yes, sir,” Connor says, and it’s a small miracle Hank doesn’t knock Perkins to the ground then and there and beat him until his face isn’t recognizable anymore.

“Come on,” Perkins says. “Let’s get out of here.” He looks over his shoulder at Hank. “You good to give the tin can a ride back?”

Hank fists his hands at his sides, fingernails digging into his palms. “Yeah,” he says, voice clipped. “I’ve got him.”

Perkins and his people came from the other entrance, so the moment they’re out of sight, Hank wraps an arm around Connor’s waist and helps him to the car.

“You good?” he asks, and Connor nods, letting his eyes fall closed.

Hank’s phone vibrates in his pocket as he crosses around the front of the car to the driver’s side, and he fishes it out to find a text from Connor that says, “I’m going to need your help with something back at the station before I go.”

“??” Hank writes back as he gets into the car.

Connor’s reply is immediate. “Think about it, Lieutenant.”

Oh.

_ Oh _ .

It’s the name that brings it into focus. Prototypes aren’t equipped for sexual function.

And Connor doesn’t have time to go back to the hotel, not when Perkins is probably spitefully calling CyberLife to report the incident right now. He has to take himself right in.

Well, fuck, Hank thinks. The DPD isn’t the best place for it, but what else can they do?

If someone had told Hank a week ago that in a few days he’d be helping his gorgeous android boyfriend hide the evidence that he stole a dick from a crime scene...well. He probably would have told them to fuck off, but here he is.

He doesn’t know if his life can get any weirder. 

The absolute uncanniness of it doesn’t do much to dissipate Hank’s fear, though. The ride back to the DPD is a much more somber one, with Chris quiet in the back and Connor flipping through Hank’s iPod but never picking anything - it’s more like he’s trying to memorize every single song Hank likes, like trivia, tucking every detail about him he can reach away, just in case.

And Hank just sits there, hands tight on the wheel, wanting to hold Connor’s hand instead, wondering if this is how he loses him.

Chris clears his throat when they pull into the DPD parking lot.

“I’ll, um. I’ll let you two have a minute.” He reaches for the door handle, although he turns back and adds, “Connor. That was fucking ballsy, man.”

Connor shrugs, although he does have that faint hint of a smile on his face, and he looks pleased by the compliment.

When Chris climbs out and shuts the door behind himself, Hank reaches for Connor’s hand, although Connor bumps into him as he moves to do the same. Hank winds their fingers together, looking down at them joined together until his vision blurs. 

“I could take you back to the hotel,” Hank says without looking at Connor, “or Jericho, or my house. I could...”

“Hank,” Connor says softly, squeezing his hand. “I’m sorry, okay?”

Hank lifts his head to meet his eyes. “What the fuck are you sorry about?” 

Connor shrugs. “That you’re afraid of losing me, and that you have to live with that, even if it’s only until tomorrow. And I’m sorry that I like that you’re afraid of losing me when it’s hurting you. I just...I’m used to being replaceable.”

“Hey,” Hank says, reaching over and grasping him by the back of the neck. “It’s okay to like that.”

Connor gives Hank a weak smile. “We should get my phallic attachment off. I need to go soon.”

“Yeah,” Hank says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “For the record, this is the weirdest shit a partner has ever asked me to do, and I’ve done some  _ weird _ shit.”

“It’s only polite to leave you something to remember me by,” Connor says with an ounce of his usual humor, enough that it does something to lift Hank’s spirits. Connor nudges him, smiling, and Hank laughs, weakly but genuinely. 

“Come on.” Hank squeezes Connor’s hand. “I want to kiss you, and I can’t here.”

“We should be good,” Connor says, in a voice that says he intends to do exactly the opposite.

“Yeah, we should,” Hank replies, shrugging. “But I’m still going to kiss you.”

The bullpen is blessedly empty when they get inside - some of that is a high case load, but there’s an increased demand from the public for a response to the deviancy crisis, and the solution to that is usually visibility. Jeff has had most of his staff out as much as possible. 

Hank and Connor still don’t go to the men’s bathroom together, even if it’s just Chris, Jeff, locked away in his office, and the reception androids out front around to see them. Connor goes first, and Hank waits out front where Jeff won’t see that he’s back for a few minutes. 

When enough time passes, he prints a sign that says “Toilet overflowing - called maintenance, use other bathroom” and tapes it on the bathroom door before he goes inside and locks it behind himself.

Connor is leaning against the counter, that loose piece of hair falling over his forehead when he looks up at Hank. He laid his jacket aside, and Hank can see the thirium stains on his white sleeve, although they’re fading as the blue blood dries.

And Hank doesn’t waste any time. He crosses the room to Connor, catches a hand in his hair and kisses him while Connor fists his good hand in his shirt. Connor lets out a muffled whine when Hank slips his tongue into his mouth.

“We have to be fast,” Connor whispers when they part, and Hank nods, turning him towards the stalls and giving him a nudge inside the largest one. 

Connor is on him again the second Hank shuts the door, wrapping his arms around him from behind and kissing his neck.

“All that ‘weird shit’ you’ve done with other people,” Connor says when Hank turns in his arms and reaches for the button of those dorky dress jeans he wears. “Have you ever fucked anyone in the work bathroom?”

Hank smiles, because he sees what Connor wants. “Nah. Just you, sweetheart.”

Connor fists his good hand in Hank’s hair just enough that it hurts. (It hurts, and Hank isn’t angry about it.) “Good,” he whispers. 

“You’re cute when you’re possessive,” Hank says, helping Connor push his jeans down when he struggles with only one good arm. He slips his hand into Connor’s briefs and squeezes his ass, and then dips a finger lower to trace his slick hole. “How does this come off?” 

Connor clenches his jaw in frustration. “Fuck me first, and then we can talk about it.”

Hank grins, pushing Connor’s black briefs down too. It should be less hot than it is, Connor standing there with his jeans around his ankles, those sock garters or whatever they are still in place and doing so much more for Hank than they should...but it’s hot. Connor’s lips are parted as his breathing picks up under Hank’s gaze, and he pulls his tie loose and unbuttons a few of his shirt buttons so Hank could slip a hand inside if he wanted to. 

He’s so perfectly disheveled in some ways and still put together in others, and it makes Hank want to mess him up a little.

“Turn around,” Hank says, and Connor does, resting his cheek against the cool wall and inhaling when Hank runs a hand up the back of his bare thigh. He runs his fingers higher, between the cleft of his ass, holding him apart so he can look at him as he teases his thumb around his twitching hole.

“God,” Hank says, low in his ear. “You’re leaking, baby.”

Connor was already reaching around to grasp at Hank’s arm as he teases him, but now he closes his hand tight around him, tight enough that it hurts again, and that it’s maybe going to bruise.

“We don’t have time for this,” Connor hisses, although it dies in a little moan when Hank presses his thumb against him again. 

“There’s hardly anybody out there,” Hank says in a low voice, “and there’s a sign on the door. We have a few minutes, I think...as long as you can keep quiet.” Hank kisses Connor’s ear and presses the length of his body against Connor’s back. “Relax. I’ve got you.” 

The truth about the theatrics and the teasing is that Hank is just trying to avoid how fucking devastated he is about all of this, how much he’s trying to stop himself from thinking that Connor might not come back.

He’s just trying to help them both forget.

* * *

Connor is all too aware that everything he has in this world is right here in this bathroom stall. His coin he picked up when he shouldn’t have, and the phallic plate he never should have stolen, and Hank.

He doesn’t know if he thinks that’s funny or sad, if it’s something to be happy for or something to grieve.

Maybe a little of both.

He thinks Hank understands, though. He thinks Hank maybe feels the same way. Hank has more to his name, of course, but it doesn’t seem like much of it matters to him. 

(He does feel sorry that he’s just one more thing for Hank to lose.)

Connor reaches for Hank’s hand where it’s pressed next to his against the wall, lacing their fingers together and squeezing. He’s not interested in the teasing, only in Hank pressing him up against this wall and fucking him like he can’t bruise and can’t break, like he can do whatever he wants because CyberLife will never know, because Connor can’t, and Hank can.

He presses back against Hank’s hand between his legs, reaching around to take a firm hold of Hank’s hair. 

(Hank likes when he does that, Connor thinks, and that’s something he’s  _ very _ interested in exploring when they have more time.)

“Fuck me,” he says again, voice low, and Hank has the audacity to smirk and nip the shell of Connor’s ear. 

“You know you got very demanding very fast?” he asks, voice low in Connor’s ear.

“I thought that’s what you were trying to teach me last night,” Connor says, looking at Hank over his shoulder. “I’m a very fast learner.”

Hank laughs again, takes him by the chin and kisses him. 

It’s sloppy at this angle, and that’s only exacerbated by the way Connor opens his mouth to moan when Hank finally slips two fingers inside of him, but Connor likes it that way, and he thinks Hank does too.

Hank presses his free hand against Connor’s mouth at the sound. “Shh,” he breathes. “You have to be quiet, baby.”

Connor glares at him and nips his palm until Hank pulls his hand back, and then Connor turns in his arms so he can reach for the button of Hank’s jeans. He kisses him the entire time he pushes his jeans and boxers down, and when Hank’s cock springs free, Connor reaches for it and whispers, “Can you hold me up?”

“Fuck.” Hank’s voice is low like a growl. “Is that how you want it?”

“Yeah,” Connor whispers.

“Then yeah. I can lift you, baby. Step out of your pants for me.” 

It doesn’t seem like something that should do anything for Hank, Connor doesn’t think, watching him kick out of his shoes and then step out of the jeans around his ankles, but Hank watches him with pupils blown wide like he’s the most remarkable thing. Connor leaves his socks on, and he feels like he looks perfectly silly, tie pulled loose, shirt undone - last night he was aiming for appearances, but right now he’s aiming for speed - but Hank still looks at him exactly the same, crowds him back against the divider between stalls and kisses him until Connor makes a soft noise of approval into his mouth.

Hank lifts Connor’s good hand to the top of the partition and folds his fingers over it. “Hold onto this for me, baby.”

Connor nods, swallowing hard when Hank grasps him by the backs of his thighs and lifts them around his hips. Connor braces himself back against the wall, trying to help Hank bear his weight, but he pushes his free hand into Hank’s hair, twisting his fingers there and tightening his legs around Hank’s waist as Hank wraps an arm around his back and holds him close. 

Connor’s injured arm hurts to lift, hurts to use, but he ignores it to wind his fingers in Hank’s hair when he kisses him.

“Fuck me,” he whispers again, and this time, Hank listens.

They don’t have the range for Hank to thrust into him in this position - it’s more like Hank rocking into him, surrounding him, and Connor grinding down, desperately trying to get closer to him however he can. His shirt is wrinkled where Hank is clutching him, and Connor wonders, briefly and wildly, if it’s going to be obvious when they walk out of here, if his appearance will be rumpled enough to look like he just got fucked in the bathroom.

He doesn’t honestly know if he would mind.

Hank digs a hand into Connor’s hair and buries his face in his neck, panting against his skin as he nudges into him and Connor has to adjust his grip on the stall wall, digging his legs into Hank’s back to hold himself steady.

Connor moans, and Hank kisses him quiet, and when they part, Connor whispers, “I’m so full.”

Hank inhales sharply, pulling Connor closer to him, as if they aren’t already as close as they can get. Connor takes Hank’s chin in his hand and lifts his head to meet his eyes. “Do you want to see?” he asks softly.

He’s coming back, but...he wants Hank to never forget him. 

Just in case.

“What?” Hank asks in a strangled voice, and Connor smiles softly, releases his chin to lift the hem of his own half-buttoned shirt to his mouth to expose his belly.

“Look,” he says around the material, and then he pulls the synthskin back and makes his usually white chassis transparent at his abdomen - a functionality meant to make diagnostics easier so technicians could look inside without having to open up the whole access panel, and which Connor never knew he would be grateful for until now.

Until now, when Hank looks down at him with eyes blown wide, looks inside him, looks through him the way he always has, to see Connor’s thirium pump beating inside his chest like a human heart, and the anal sleeve of his biocomponent stretched tight around him to the point of translucency, so Hank can see himself inside of him. 

“Fuck,” Hank says in a broken voice. “Connor, honey, that’s so hot, what the fuck...” and Connor smiles around the shirt in his mouth, pleased to reduce him to incoherency. He arches his back as he rolls his hips down, listening to Hank’s gasp. 

Connor removes the shirt from his mouth only long enough to whisper, “Look. You’re so deep inside me. You’re incredible,” before he braces himself against the wall and rocks himself down with more insistence, and Hank goes with him, staring alternately at his cock inside Connor and Connor’s face, grazing his teeth over Connor’s jawline when Connor tips his head back to bare his neck...

“I’m going to come, baby,” Hank groans, but when he moves to pull out, Connor tightens his hold on him and doesn’t let him go.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, desperate. “I’ll run a cleaning protocol before we detach it...you can inside me... _ fuck _ .”

Hank hits that bundle of pleasure sensors deep inside him again, and Hank breathes, “Fuck, I saw that,” when Connor whines and arches into him. 

Connor is never going to get used to how in awe of him Hank sounds, all the time, over everything. A basic function built by technicians to make their own lives easier, and Hank still thinks it’s incredible.

Connor knows what he’s worth to CyberLife, but he’s never felt worth anything until now.

Hank makes him feel it.

Connor tightens his bad arm around Hank’s shoulders, hauls him closer and kisses him sloppily as he rocks down hard against him. Hank’s arm is tight around his waist, his fingers digging into Connor’s thigh, and he’s panting when he loses his rhythm and pulls away from Connor just far enough to watch himself come inside him, the biocomponent stretched so tight around his cock that he can see it through the translucent polymer.

“Holy shit,” Hank whispers, and Connor smiles, pleased, gently grinding himself down where Hank is softening inside him in a little tease.

He whines in a weak protest when Hank pulls out, but Hank immediately drops to his knees and takes Connor’s cock into his mouth, bobbing his head and swirling his tongue around him.

Connor comes down his throat on the third thrust into his mouth. He doesn’t need to keep bracing himself against the wall, but he doesn’t let go of it, using the hold to stabilize himself as Hank swallows him down and then presses a sweet kiss to the jut of his hip.

“Come here,” Hank says when he gets to his feet, pulling Connor into his arms and kissing his temple when Connor folds into him. “You deserve better than this.”

Connor isn’t sure he does, thinks that what he has is so much more than he ever could have hoped for, but Hank has always seen something in him that he can’t see in himself. 

He starts the internal cleaning protocol and softly says, “Cleaning will take a minute. Can you hold me until then?”

“Yeah,” Hank whispers, tightening his arms around him. They look ridiculous, probably, Connor’s pants and briefs and shoes across the stall and his black socks up around his calves, his rumpled shirt hanging over his waist like a duck tail, but Connor doesn’t care, just nestles himself in closer.

“I was right that you give good hugs,” he whispers to Hank.

“Baby...”

“Don’t be sad,” Connor says quickly, cutting him off. “This is good. I don’t want you to be sad about me. I’m not sad about you, or any of this.”

“I know you’re not,” Hank says. He reaches up to run his fingers through Connor’s hair. “You’re braver than me.”

Connor doesn’t think that’s true either, but he buries his face in the crook of Hank’s neck and breathes in the scent he loved from the first time he smelled it, and he lets the quiet stretch around them.

It feels like peace, at least to him.

He doesn’t tell Hank when the cleaning routine is done, instead letting himself steal another minute and forty seconds before he pulls away. He can’t tell if Hank is on the verge of tears or not, and maybe that’s to Hank’s credit.

“Okay,” Connor says softly. They get dressed quickly, although Connor leaves his pants and briefs around his thighs and walks Hank through the process of detaching the phallic plate, and though Connor feels self-conscious, Hank never once acts like this is anything less than normal.

“Would getting fucked without this attached do anything for you?” Hank asks when he presses a thumb against one of the empty access ports and realizes it makes Connor shiver.

Connor looks down at him and says, “Everything with you does something for me.”

Hank pinches his thigh and laughs. “I mean would it make the other things more sensitive? Your thirium pump and the wires?”

“I don’t know,” Connor says, smiling. 

“When you’re back, we should find out,” Hank replies as he finishes, getting to his feet and kissing him.

And there’s so much Connor likes about that - he gets so much pleasure from the biocomponent, but he likes that Hank wants him the way he was built, too, and he likes the thought of Hank getting him off with just his thirium pump and an open access port, the intimacy of it...

But mostly he just likes that Hank said, “When you’re back.”

Connor doesn’t know if Hank is right that he’s braver, but he thinks it’s easier to be when Hank says it will be okay. 

He watches Hank fold his coat over his arm to hide the biocomponent in his hand while he walks it out to his car. “I’ll keep this safe for you,” Hank says, and he’s only half teasing.

“You better,” Connor says, nudging him, “after all the trouble I went through to steal it for you.”

Hank smiles, and then he wraps an arm around Connor and kisses him again. “If anything goes south,” he says, “call me, okay? I’ll figure out how to get to you.”

Connor nods. He won’t do it, of course, no matter what happens - he wants Hank safe, and that’s no way to keep him out of the fray - but it makes him feel just a little safer anyway.

“You should leave first,” he whispers, “and I should probably wait out front for the cab.”

Hank nods and kisses his forehead. “Stay safe, terminator.”

Connor smiles. “You too, Lieutenant.” 

Hank gives him one last, long look as he leaves the bathroom, and Connor waits, bracing himself against the counter and looking up at himself in the mirror.

He looks different than he did a few days ago, he thinks. More real.

But maybe that’s just his imagination.

After a minute, Connor leaves, too. He's quiet about it, but there's no one in the bullpen to pay any attention to him, so he makes his way out to the front lobby and waits for the cab he called.

He runs through his memory while he sits there. He's already overwritten everything incriminating, but the original files are still there, because...well, because he's sentimental, he supposes. Connor knows it isn't safe to keep them in his memory banks - the biocomponent technicians won't have any reason to access it, but it also isn't worth the risk to Hank to hang on to everything from their time together.

But before he deletes those files, he pulls all of them together and emails them to Hank's personal email address with the subject line "Something (Better) to Remember Me By". It's the footage from last night, and all of Connor's streams, but it's also the first time they met, and all the other moments in between.

Hank comes back inside from his car as Connor is finishing scrubbing his memory banks, and they exchange a glance, although only a brief one. 

Connor's cab gets there a few minutes later, and he quietly gets to his feet and tightens his tie before he goes out to climb inside. He doesn't give the DPD a last look before he goes. He can't see Hank from where he stands anyway. 

Connor passes his coin back and forth over his fingers in the back seat as buildings pass him by on the familiar drive, and he runs preconstruction after preconstruction of what happens at CyberLife, and what comes after.

What comes back is a mixture of good and bad, a calculated percentage of success - high, but Connor wouldn't care if it wasn't.

He disregards every single failure scenario, but he keeps the good preconstructions, the ones where he comes back, where he sees Hank again, where he meets the rest of his friends, and his dog...the ones where Hank looks at him like he loves him. Only the good ones.

He thinks they're all he needs.

Connor holds onto them only until the cab pulls up to the security kiosk outside CyberLife tower, and then he purges them as he gives his serial number, but they're part of him now, written into the deepest recesses of his code, the same way all his other memories of Hank are now, tucked away where no one would ever think to access them, where they're only his.

After security clears him, Connor straightens his tie and the cuffs of his jacket as the cab pulls up the tower and parks out front. He gives his coin one last toss, and then he tucks it away and schools his face as he climbs from the vehicle.

If Connor looks different in the last few days, CyberLife tower does, too - it's more imposing, unsettling in a way Connor has never found it before.

He can still smell Hank's cologne on himself, although of course no one else could, and that's a comfort Connor has to cling to as he steels himself and steps inside.

* * *

Hank told Chloe and Amanda about Connor because he had to - because he needed their help, and because Chloe already had it half figured out anyway.

He tells Chris over drinks that night - he needs to get out - because Chris is the closest thing he has to a best friend anymore. 

And Chris, to his credit, listens to all of it with good humor and doesn’t pass much judgment on it - on Connor for what he did, or on Hank for falling for it. He’s gracious that way. Exceptionally forgiving.

“Fuck, Hank,” he says when Hank finishes walking him through the last week that Connor has been in his life, in ways he’s known, and in ways he hasn’t, but there’s only disbelief in the words, and nothing else.

Disbelief is fair, Hank thinks.

“Yeah,” he says softly, taking a swig of his drink. It’s sour in his mouth - there’s something about worry that makes beer so much more bitter.

Chris is quiet for a moment, thinking, and then he says, “That’s the most convoluted plan to get information out of someone that I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah,” Hank says again, and it is. But Connor never really wanted the information. What he wanted was to get close - for the case, or so he told himself...and he did that and then some, because Hank only met him a few days ago and he’s still willing to arm himself and go to CyberLife himself to get him back if he has to, no matter how stupid that would be. 

Hank already watched through most of the footage Connor sent him - he was lonely after work, sue him - so he found the little note Connor left him already, a message that plays over the screen during the first stream Connor did for him. 

“If you look closely, you can see me falling in love with you,” it said.

And Hank can, he thinks. But the part he’s really taken with is what came a few days later, when he drove Connor to the scene at Zlatko’s house and Connor asked him if he wanted to talk about Cole. Hank watched the footage of himself through Connor’s eyes, and he realized that you can see the moment he first thinks that maybe he could love him, too.

Connor left him a good gift. It will be a better one if he comes back and they can watch through it together. 

“Hey,” Chris says, “he’ll be back tomorrow. He’s smart. He’ll be okay.”

Hank does think Connor will be okay. He’s afraid, but he does believe he’ll be back. But that doesn’t change that he’s still CyberLife’s for the foreseeable future, and that’s what’s really eating away at him. If Connor pretends to be CyberLife’s agent until Jericho is ready to properly make their stand, he could be in their hands for months, if not longer.

And Hank is sick as hell of it after a single day.

“I know,” Hank forces himself to say to Chris anyway.

“Listen,” Chris says, “I’m sorry I wasn’t better to you about wanting to help him. I didn’t know all of it.”

“Yeah, well,” Hank says, shrugging, “neither did I. It’s fine, kid. You were being smart about it.”

Chris nods. “I like him. And I think he’ll probably be beneficial to Jericho...as much as he can be, working for CyberLife.”

Hank knows how nervous Connor was earlier, how badly he wanted Chris to forgive him and accept him. He wishes Connor was here to hear him say it.

Hank was supposed to take Connor to Jericho that night to meet Markus and North and the others. Instead, he texts North after he and Chris settle their tab, tells her Connor had to go in for repairs and that they’ll have to do it tomorrow instead.

He knows he should tell them everything - it’s their war, after all. But he just doesn’t have the energy.

Hank goes home, and he gets another beer, and he listens to Sumo snoring across the bedroom. He has his headphones in, and he’s just...listening to the footage of Connor talking to him during one of their streams, after they were both coming down and he was trying to fill the time. 

He doesn’t fall asleep - he doesn’t know how he would - but he listens to Connor talking to him all night, and it makes the time pass just a little bit easier.

* * *

Nothing happens during the repair. 

Connor goes to the biocomponent repair bay and checks himself in, and the technician detaches his broken arm and replaces it with a new unit without ever even hooking him up to the monitor to access his software. He’s put in the bay afterwards to let the synthetic muscle meld together overnight, and tomorrow morning, he’ll be returned to service, and to Hank.

Connor is planning to put himself into stasis to make the time pass easier, but as he’s initiating the command, the technician returns with another RK800. 

Which is odd. It’s odd because Connor is a prototype, and so there’s only one model deployed at any given time, and no need to work on any of the backup units when they aren’t in the field.

It takes Connor a moment to realize something is off. It looks like him, but it isn’t him. The specifications are off on the chassis, and the android isn’t emitting a ping signal Connor recognizes.

It’s a new model. It’s an  _ upgraded _ model.

(Why is CyberLife building an upgraded model?)

When the technician finishes with the other model, Connor waits for a moment, and then he opens his repair pod and steps from it, tailing him down the hall as he walks the android back to storage.

His thirium pump is racing in his chest as he tries to make sense of it, but when they reach a corridor overlooking storage below, Connor looks down over the sea of them underneath him, thousands of them, all wearing his face but not  _ exactly  _ his face, and he understands.

He was one hunter, but this is an army of them. They’re building an army. 

Connor doesn’t know when they’ll be ready for deployment, but they look close to it. They’re probably only weeks away, if even that, and then they’ll take Jericho - and everyone helping them - by force. 

He’s built to be a negotiator...but he doesn’t think CyberLife is negotiating anymore. This sure as fuck doesn’t look like negotiation, or like tact.

It looks like the start of a war.

He needs to get back to Hank. That’s all Connor knows.

But for right now, all Connor can do is get himself back to his repair pod without being noticed. He seals himself back inside, and he resists the urge to call Hank then and there. That feels too much like testing fate, contacting him while he's under observation inside the pod, even if he isn't being actively monitored.

So instead, Connor occupies himself by fiddling with his coin in his pocket and trying to understand.

He knows why he was built initially. It was pressure from Washington D.C., partially, that CyberLife do something to fix the problem it was responsible for...but it was also because investigating deviancy and locating Jericho would be a dangerous task, and all dangerous tasks are reserved for androids these days.

So if he assumes the background of this newer model is the same, it's a response to some kind of political pressure. CyberLife wouldn't invest millions of dollars in the androids Connor saw in storage unless they had a buyer.

But even then,  _ even then _ , why are there thousands of them? Even by generous estimates, everyone agrees Jericho isn't a group of more than a few hundred, and Detroit is the first place deviants have organized like this...although others will certainly follow elsewhere, and the politicians in D.C., especially those with pro-AI platforms and investments in CyberLife, would of course like to prevent that.

The question has always been how far they're willing to go to prevent the spread of deviancy and an eventual uprising before it starts...whether they'll recall androids and how they'll reclaim them from personal ownership, or if they might destroy entire lines of models to stop the spread. 

Those actions would be drastic, and they would cost individual households and CyberLife millions of dollars altogether, but maybe they've decided it's the only way to preserve what they have, to destroy the world they've built and start over from the beginning. 

Connor thinks they have to operate under the assumption that that's what's coming. And if it is, then Jericho is running out of time to change things.

(Or maybe they've already lost the opportunity for change. Maybe the best they can do at this point is just...try to survive.)

That's all educated speculation on what’s coming for the rest of them, but Connor  _ knows _ what this means for him. He's obsolete...or he will be, soon. If CyberLife is satisfied enough with his performance, maybe they'll sell him second-rate to a police department, but he thinks it's far more likely that he'll be caught up in whatever purge they're planning. If they're planning on drawing a line in the sand, modifying their programming and designs so androids aren't advanced enough anymore to have the risk of deviation, no one will want an android manufactured before those changes were implemented.

Connor's fate is tied up with all the rest of theirs, he's sure. And he doesn't know how to stop it.

It's nine in the morning when the technician returns to pull him from the pod and check the bonding process on his new arm. It only takes a few minutes before he says, "Okay, Connor. You can go back to duty. You good to get yourself back to the field office?"

"Yes," Connor says. It takes considerable effort to keep his voice steady.

The moment he's in the cab and past the security kiosk, he calls Hank. The phone barely rings before Hank picks up. 

"Connor?"

"I'm okay," Connor says quickly. "Are you at the precinct?"

"I'm coming back from a scene. Is everything alright?"

"Are you alone? Can you meet me somewhere?" 

"You're freaking me out, baby. What's going on?"

"I don't think we should talk about it over the phone. Can you meet me?"

"Yeah," Hank says.

"Okay. I'll be at Riverside Park in ten minutes. I'll wait for you."

"Okay," Hank says, because he's good like that, good under pressure, even when he's afraid. "I'll be there soon."

"Okay," Connor says softly.

"I'm glad you're okay, baby. I missed you."

"Yeah," Connor says, wiping at the tears welling in his eyes. "I missed you, too."

Connor isn’t sure where Hank is coming from, but he gets to the park before Hank does. He leaves the meter running in his cab since he’ll still have to report to the field office, and then he goes and sits on the bench overlooking the river, his hands folded in his lap. 

CyberLife tower looms in the distance - now that Connor thinks about it, it’s visible from so many places in the city, like some kind of inhuman god looking down on them.

He doesn’t like it.

Hank gets there seven minutes after Connor, the puttering of his older engine immediately recognizable as he pulls in. Connor gets up to meet him, thirium pump hammering in his chest, although Hank is already halfway to him when he does - car lights still on, door left open.

Hank gets his arms around Connor the second he reaches him and hauls him into him, fisting a hand in Connor’s hair and kissing him. Connor is all too grateful to slip his arms into Hank’s open coat - it’s cold, yes, but even if it wasn’t, he would still be grateful for Hank’s warmth.

“Hi,” Connor whispers when Hank parts from him just far enough to catch his breath.

“Hey, baby,” Hank says, putting his hands on Connor’s arms and looking him over.

“I’m okay,” Connor says quickly. “They didn’t even access my software. I’m okay.”

“Fuck,” Hank breathes, wrapping his arms around Connor’s shoulders again. “I was so fucking worried about you.”

“I know. I don’t want to go back there again.”

Hank kisses his hair. “I know, baby,” he says softly. “What happened?”

“Can we sit? Do you have a few minutes?”

“Yeah,” Hank says quickly. He wraps an arm around Connor’s shoulders and walks them over to the bench Connor was sitting on, taking Connor’s hand in his when they get there.

Connor pushes a hand through his hair. “CyberLife is working on a new prototype. I think they have been for some time. I saw it...him. One of them. He’s modeled after me, but different.” 

“What does that mean?”

“I followed the technician working on him when he took him back to storage, because I wasn’t sure. There are  _ thousands _ of them, Hank. They have a whole army in the tower just...waiting to be deployed.”

Hank furrows his brow. “For what?” 

“If I had to hazard a guess? I would say to orchestrate mass recalls across Detroit, and probably state and nationwide.”

“Fuck,” Hank breathes. “They’ll have to replace the androids they’re recalling. They’ll lose millions of dollars.”

“D.C. probably already has a bailout ready - too many of them have a vested interest. I think they’ve decided it’s better to start over from scratch with less emotionally advanced models than to risk letting the deviancy crisis run its natural course, to whatever end it might find.

“Fuck me,” Hank whispers. “How can we be sure? If Jericho is going to do something drastic trying to get out ahead of this, we have to be sure.”

Connor thinks about it a moment, and then he realizes there is a path forward, maybe. “We could go talk to Elijah Kamski. Pretend we’re there with questions about the deviancy crisis on behalf of the DPD, and see what we can get out of him about CyberLife and their response plans.”

Hank scrubs a hand over his face, but he nods. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah. That’s good, baby.”

“Hank,” Connor says softly, “if they go forward with this, I’m obsolete. I’ll be recalled, too. And it will only be a matter of time before they find Jericho then, when there aren’t any androids left in Detroit - no one from Jericho will be able to travel on the streets without being noticed and any human buying biocomponents will be immediately reported. If this is what I think it is...”

“Then we’re both fucked,” Hank finishes, squeezing Connor’s hand. “It’s okay. It’s not going to happen like that. Public sympathy is high, even with the media trying to swing this however they can. And Markus has a few tricks up his sleeve that he’s been saving.”

“Now is probably the time for them,” Connor admits.

“Yeah. Seems like it.” Hank squeezes Connor’s hand. “It’s going to be okay. If I have to drive you to Canada, then I will. You’re not going to be recalled.”

Connor nods, leaning into Hank and tucking his head against his shoulder. “I think...maybe we don’t have to be so careful. I’m not even sure CyberLife is watching me that closely anymore when they’re already working on what comes next, so...maybe I could come back to your place tonight, if I can get away from the field office. Instead of the motel. I...want to meet your dog.”

_ And see where you live, and what you like to watch and read, and sleep in your bed... _

Hank kisses his forehead. “Yeah,” he says. “You need to get your dick, anyway.”

Connor elbows him, although he’s smiling when he sits up. “We should get back, I think,” he says, reluctant. “I don’t want them to notice that you’re taking too long, and CyberLife probably let Perkins know I’m expected.”

Hank rises beside him, although he catches Connor by the arm when he tries to start back to the cars with a soft, “Hey,”, puts his hands on his face and kisses him again.

“It’s you and me now...no matter what,” Hank tells him when they part. “You’re never going back to CyberLife. I promise, baby.”

And the strange thing is, despite everything, Connor believes him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Dulce](https://twitter.com/du1ce_de_1eche) drew [the scene at Pirate's Cove](https://twitter.com/du1ce_de_1eche/status/1244046343053758464?s=20) \- please go give them some love!
> 
> As you know by now, I'm writing this as a twitter thread and then migrating it over here to AO3, so if you want to keep reading beyond this chapter's end, you can pick up the next part of the story [here!](https://twitter.com/Jolli_Bean/status/1245459523629985792)
> 
> If you do wander over to twitter to read the rest, you'll see that I did take a short hiatus from this fic - times are rough right now, and this fic is at a pretty heavy point, and I needed to write some comfort food instead. I will with 100% certainty be coming back and finishing this fic, hopefully in the next month! I know exactly how it ends and have put too much work into it to let it sit unfinished. But in the meantime, I have another fic that I've taken a lot of comfort in writing coming soon that I hope you'll really enjoy, too. <3
> 
> Stay safe out there, friends! <3


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